


Joy of Nothing

by Azertyrobaz



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Found Family, Gen, Light Angst, Mandomera, Military Backstory, Small Towns
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:07:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 63,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27255430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azertyrobaz/pseuds/Azertyrobaz
Summary: Coffee Shop AU! Couldn't find any, so I decided to write it.Given that it was barely after 7AM, the coffee place was deserted. The woman behind the counter was arranging pastries in front of her, and it took him a second to realize that she was addressing him and asking him what he wanted to order. The chalkboard sign was confusing. He wanted coffee, this he knew with a painful certainty, the child’s complaints against his shoulder only reinforcing that foregone conclusion.Din has retired from the army after twenty years and decided to adopt an orphan. With no clear idea of what to do next, he goes back to the small town he left behind at 18. He is surprised to find out he has not been forgotten, and even more surprised to realize that the definition of home could very well be a small café.
Relationships: Baby Yoda (The Mandalorian TV) & Din Djarin, Baby Yoda (The Mandalorian TV) & Winta (Star Wars), Baby Yoda (The Mandalorian) & Omera (Star Wars), Din Djarin & Grogu | Baby Yoda, Din Djarin & Paz Vizsla, Din Djarin & Winta, Din Djarin/Omera, Omera & Winta (Star Wars)
Comments: 376
Kudos: 347





	1. How to drive 500 miles for a coffee

**Author's Note:**

> After so much angst, I was in need of some pure, unadulterated fluff. And what better than a coffee shop AU?
> 
> Small town feels, caffeine extravaganza, romance and cute baby interactions are on the agenda, as well as a few surprises along the way, including a follow-up which is already in the works and will be penned by another author. :)
> 
> Not sure yet on the number of chapters - I can only promise that the angst will be kept to a minimum. As always, comments are welcome.
> 
> Also, a friend of mine created a Mandomera Discord server. So if you feel like discussing all things Mandomera (and more), feel free to [join](https://discord.gg/WKdHQqBshH)! Or join CoffeeQuill's [discord](https://discord.gg/UwZuG6N) to discuss more topics!

** Joy of Nothing **

_Waking up with the pouring rain_ _  
Same old sun and the sky again  
Calling the doves and fighter planes  
Sharing the sky like it's nothing strange  
Falling silhouette on an evening sky  
A morning greedy of babies' cry  
And the same lonely night lullabies  
Oh, the joy of nothing is a sweeter something  
And I will hold it in my heart_

(Foy Vance)

The first time she saw them was a Thursday. She remembered because Peli had just delivered the day’s fresh batch of pastries, and she hadn’t had time to arrange all of them in the display case yet. She was always a little slower on Thursdays as Wednesday was her day off and she required time to get back into the swing of things.

“Good morning,” she offered the haggard stranger who had the dumbfounded expression of someone who’d already started regretting some of his decisions despite the early hour, the first of which waking up in the first place. Finally seeing the baby he held in his arms, she thought she had the start of an answer as to why.

“What can I get you?” Omera added when he didn’t return her greetings – she was used to uncaffeinated silent patrons at this hour, and didn’t take offense.

“Huh…” he replied, squinting his eyes at the huge chalkboard sign behind her.

This was also something she was familiar with when newcomers first entered Sorgan. People were used to clear, simple panels offering the usual beverages in two to three sizes, but for reasons that were hers alone, she’d decided against that. For a start, some drinks were her own creations, and didn’t bear recognizable names. Also, she didn’t believe coffee or tea based beverages were supposed to be served in anything but their intended volume: a mug, or a cup.

The child in the man’s arms grumbled slightly and turned their head from its resting place on his shoulder. A little boy, she thought. Older than she had expected, probably around 18 months. But he was wearing many layers, like his father, and the hood of his slightly too big jacket obscured his face. Sensing the child’s annoyance, he turned him in his arms and held him across his chest instead so that he could see what was happening. Two pairs of dark eyes were now perusing what was on offer.

The kid’s eyes widened almost theatrically when they stopped on the cookies on display in front of him – the only delicacies she had time to get out of Peli’s food containers – and the man’s head tilted to the side, staring at something right behind her. Frowning, Omera tried to understand what had captivated his attention, but figured it out when he placed his order.

“One espresso, one hot chocolate and…” a coo from his son, who was still transfixed by Peli’s baking “…two chocolate-chip cookies, please.”

In her experience, people who ordered espressos usually fell into two categories: either they selected this beverage because it was one of the cheapest she offered, or they thought it would make them appear more sophisticated. In both cases, they were sorely disappointed when she presented them with the tiny cup of strong coffee.

Omera tried to figure out in which category the dark-haired stranger who was whispering unintelligible words to his child belonged, but she drew a blank. Maybe he’d just wanted something to drink quickly while he waited for the kid’s mother to join them. Many customers chose her coffee shop because it was only a small detour from the highway and a good stopping place before the national park a few miles south. The duo certainly didn’t look like people who were going to stay in Nevarro for long.

The man paid, cash, and she expected them to go find a seat, but they remained where they were, the child swaying slightly in his father’s arms and looking quite sleepy still. Omera busied herself with their order, and turned towards her old but trusted Nuova Simonelli espresso machine. The one that had apparently caught the man’s eyes, its chrome fixtures hard to miss. It was her pride and joy, and had cost more than all the other appliances of her coffee shop combined, but she hadn’t regretted the purchase for a second. Even when it huffed and groaned and puffed into life as it did now, surely waking up her daughter upstairs.

Omera could feel the man’s eyes on her as she worked, but didn’t let it trouble her – she knew what she was doing. The 15 bar pump pressure soon meant she was in her own caffeinated, noisy world, and she let herself appreciate the simple pleasure of making her first espresso of the day – something that hadn’t gotten old yet in the five years since she’d opened Sorgan.

She armed herself with the required espresso cup, and made sure the crema was just right – it didn’t matter that the man was only passing through Nevarro: the coffee she served had to be the best she could offer, otherwise why bother? She left it on the warming plate as she finished preparing the hot chocolate, adding milk froth for extra thickness – there again, it didn’t matter that the beverage was destined for a toddler, it needed all the flavors she could provide – then got the two cookies from the display case.

Omera was ready to offer the man a tray so that he could more easily carry their order while holding his child, but he immediately grabbed the espresso, inhaled its scent, and instead of downing it in one go as she expected, took his time after a tentative first taste.

“It’s good,” he told her, appreciative, once he was done. Omera smiled – she knew her coffee was good, but it was always nice to receive a compliment. “Haven’t had such a good espresso in a long time, thank you,” he added, as he took hold of the plate with the two cookies his son had valiantly tried to grab while he was enjoying his beverage and the mug of hot chocolate.

They sat at the back, which she found odd, but it was the best vantage point to see who was coming in. She expected they were waiting for someone and biding their time. Omera kept glancing at them as she got Peli’s remaining pastries out and placed the pies and quiches in the refrigerated display. There was definitely something unusual about them, she thought. But she couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

Soon, other clients started showing up, distracting her – regulars on their way to work who got takeaway, early dog walkers, hikers with their backpacks, nearby shop owners, and after a while the ‘trendy mommy platoon’ with their enormous strollers and noisy kids. Omera forced herself not to find them too aggravating – after all, they were probably her most valuable patrons, coming from the nicest part of town. They’d gravitated to her coffee shop at a slow pace since she opened, attracted by the promise of organic products they expected from a place called Sorgan – Omera had realized too late that naming her café after the village where her grandmother had grown up had probably been a mistake, and had to resign herself to the fact that many people would keep on calling it ‘So organ’ and expect her to offer spelt milk and vegan quiches (she didn’t).

Winta came down for her usual rapid breakfast before rushing outside for the school bus, and Omera had quite forgotten about the man and his son at the back of the coffeehouse. The morning rush had passed, and only a few of her regulars remained. The place had become quiet again, allowing her to identify that someone was speaking a language that wasn’t English behind her. Slightly curious and with the excuse of having to collect their empty plates, she wandered in their direction. It wasn’t a language she was familiar with and the man immediately stopped when she approached.

“Everything okay?” she inquired, surprised to see them wearing their jackets still. Were they on their way out? It didn’t make sense as they seemed to have gotten comfortable in the booth. The little one had a coloring book and the man was working on his laptop. Clearly, they were in no rush to depart, but the father immediately tensed up, looking at his kid then at the exit as if she was about to ask them to leave.

“Hum, yeah, thank you, is it okay if we…”

“Closing time is at six and Wi-Fi is free for customers,” Omera interrupted his halting speech, her sentence well-rehearsed. Sorgan had its fair share of patrons spending the whole day ensconced in a comfortable chair with a coffee – or five – but it remained a rare occurrence. A father and his young son though? That was new.

“You’re free to let your boy help himself to the toys over there as well,” she added, pointing towards the small playpen in the corner. The trendy mommy platoon never let their precious offspring wander over there, but she’d selected Winta’s sturdiest toys for a reason, and kind regulars had also provided some books and extra cushions – it was a cozy spot appreciated during the weekends by visiting families. Less so during the week.

It was obvious that the man hadn’t noticed the corner and smiled at her briefly in thanks. From up close, she realized that he wasn’t just a tired dad having a slow morning – he was utterly exhausted. There was a slight tremor to his hands and one of his eyelids was visibly twitching. Uncomfortable at the attention, he turned towards his boy instead, who seemed to be full of toddler energy on the other hand, busying himself with crayons over the drawing of a frog.

“Anything else to eat or to drink?” Omera offered, knowing that caffeine was probably not what the man needed right now, but it didn’t seem like it could make him any worse. The child started bouncing slightly on his seat, and she could see that he had made short work of his hot chocolate and cookie. Lunch hour was approaching and he was probably hungry. Again, she wondered what kept them here, on their own, but it wasn’t her business.

“Another coffee would be nice but…maybe not an espresso,” he acknowledged with a frown. “Something with milk maybe, but not too much milk. Huh…”

She couldn’t blame him for not having remembered the whole menu and she listed a few suggestions she thought he might enjoy. But that only seemed to give him more anxiety, which made his answer all the more surprising.

“I trust you. Choose the one you prefer to make, they all sound good.”

He hadn’t looked at her while saying those words, pretending (or not) to be captivated by the amount of green his boy was using while coloring his frog. Omera on the other hand had her eyes fixed on an errant strand of hair curling behind his ear. He’d probably said the words lightly, too tired to figure out a choice on his own. And yet… It had been _nice_ to hear him say earlier he had liked the coffee she had made for him. This show of confidence was more than welcome. A simple, pure feeling, unburdened by any ulterior motive. It was refreshing.

“Anything to eat? We have some sandwiches, pies, quiches or soups for lunch…” she said quickly to cover her sudden onset of emotions, focusing on picking up their empty plates rather than unruly brown hair.

The man was about to answer when his phone started buzzing on the table. He didn’t even look at the screen and silenced it. Omera didn’t let it puzzle her, and waited for his reply.

“What kind of soup? Do you think he’d like it?” he asked, gesturing to his son, who had stopped coloring at the mention of food, his round eyes staring at her intently.

“It’s curried carrot and coconut soup. It isn’t too spicy, I think he’d like it,” Omera offered, wondering again if it was him asking for her honest input, or if the boy’s mother usually took care of that kind of thing and he had no clear idea how to feed his son.

“Great, some soup for him and huh…quiche for me,” he added almost absently. Given the little interest he took over his own food, she guessed that most of his decisions were simply governed by weariness. She didn’t get the feeling his fatigue was only caused by having to take care of an active toddler on his own, though. His demeanor screamed worry and stress.

As much as she enjoyed making up imaginary stories for her clients – she wouldn’t have gone into this line of business otherwise – the only thing she could provide for this man at the moment was food and coffee, and it would have to do.

She brought their order to the table and there again, he immediately took a sip of his coffee before she had time to set their cutlery on the table. She’d decided on a Ginger Twist: milk foam with ginger powder topping a light roast espresso. He smiled with his eyes from behind his cup and Omera grinned. Such a simple but welcome feeling again.

* * *

He wondered what had made him decide on this café. Probably the fact that it was in a part of town he scarcely remembered, same as the motel he had chosen the previous night. It was the first one after the highway turnoff, and he had simply been too tired to drive any further. Now that he had reached Nevarro, driven the 500 miles from El Paso with a loaded car and a cranky toddler in a record 10 hours, he felt quite incapable of literally going the extra mile and reaching the city center proper. Or what passed for Nevarro’s city center at least, as he was quite sure it hadn’t changed _that_ much in 20 years.

The night had been short – they’d arrived after midnight – and cold. Late October already seemed to hold the promise of snow, even if it was still hopefully at least a month away still. Both used to much warmer temperatures, even if they had been back in the States for several weeks now, he’d put on as many layers on the kid as possible, and did the same for himself, before wandering outside in search of sustenance. The ‘continental breakfast’ the cheap motel offered consisted of coffee provided by a filter machine that was probably as old as him and some unappetizing and likely stale bagels.

Din knew that was him delaying the inevitable again – having to walk the streets he had tried so hard to forget – but it wasn’t his fault the first coffee shop he came across looked so inviting.

“What do you say Hadi, should we try this one?” he asked his boy rhetorically. There was an answering grumble from his arms, but he knew it was mostly a mechanical response from the sleepy child.

After all, he had yet to say any intelligible word to him, even if Din now managed to understand him quite well.

Given that it was barely after 7AM, the coffee place was deserted. The woman behind the counter was arranging pastries in front of her, and it took him a second to realize that she was addressing him and asking him what he wanted to order. The chalkboard sign was confusing. He wanted _coffee_ , this he knew with a painful certainty, the child’s complaints against his shoulder only reinforcing that foregone conclusion.

The undeniably graceful features of the woman were not helping him make up his mind either, and he got lost in all the different beverages listed. Hadi cooed, this time a bit sadly, so he figured out he was done waking up and wanted to see what was happening. Din held his back to his chest instead, one arm bracing his legs securely, and he had no doubt it would take him less than a couple of seconds to zero in on the cookies, which were bigger than his head.

Din finally noticed the shiny espresso machine behind the pretty barista. They were more commonplace in Europe, and he was certain big cities had cafés equipped with them in the US, but…here in nowhere Colorado? That was certainly a first, and he felt compelled to try, even if the result would probably be disappointing.

Intent on giving the gleaming machine a chance, he ordered an espresso, a hot chocolate for the boy, and the required cookies. He couldn’t help but observe the woman as she worked. The machine was only a third of the equation for a good coffee after all, and she seemed completely at ease with her precise movements over the noise of the instrument. When she presented them with their order, he couldn’t resist the call of the enticing, freshly made espresso and took a tentative sip.

 _The smell, texture, taste, temperature_ …he was in caffeine heaven and closed his eyes in rapture. That was a _proper_ coffee. Full-bodied, but not bitter. Intense, but not overbearing. And he thanked her immediately. She smiled, her eyes shining briefly, and he had to acknowledge that maybe returning to Nevarro wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

They settled in a booth at the back of the place – he wasn’t quite ready to face anyone who might recognize him just yet, and the bigger table meant he would also be able to use his laptop more easily. He helped Hadi with his hot chocolate first though, although the kid didn’t seem to require much intervention from him, except to wipe his moustache afterwards.

“Was it good?” he asked him in Arabic, and he nodded. He’d been advised to completely switch to English, but in those quiet moments when it was just the two of them he liked sharing that language with him still.

He gestured towards the backpack he had put next to him once he was done destroying his cookie in a remarkably short time, and Din understood he wanted some toys.

“Do you want the Hot Wheels or your coloring book?” he queried, this time in English. Hadi pointed towards the second offer and he handed him his crayons as well. Figuring out the activities he liked best had been a learning process for the both of them. The orphanage probably didn’t have much to offer in terms of toys, and the few weeks they had spent at Fort Bliss afterwards had seen a lot of trials and errors. Din now knew that the boy liked building blocks, being read books, coloring, and playing with toy cars. On the other hand, puzzles made him angry, playing hide and seek upset him and toys making any kind of noise terrified him.

Once the kid had settled with his undertaking – there were plenty of animals to color – Din got his laptop out and used the free Wi-Fi provided. He first checked his emails with a long, drawn in sigh: a lot of people in his command were still trying to change his mind regarding his retirement. Some managed to hide their opinions in well-couched praises, while others openly regarded his decision as a _terrible idea_. He was pleased to see that there were also genuine farewell messages in the mix, thanking him for his service, and wishing him all the best for this new chapter in his life.

_A chapter that had started two months prior halfway across the world._

He stopped what he was doing for a while and observed the child instead. It still surprised him how quiet he could be and how unconcerned he seemed to have to play on his own. That wasn’t right, Din knew that. He should be running around, making friends and basically driving him crazy. But from what he’d been told, he was incredibly low maintenance for his age. Which made him wonder how _demanding_ 20 months old usually were, because he thought that was plenty enough.

His phone started buzzing on the table: Karga.

Din’s life had utterly changed from the moment he had decided to adopt the baby rescued from the orphanage wreckage, and the fact that Greef was still calling him, weeks after he had made his choice known to the brass, was proof enough that he hadn’t shocked only himself in the process.

He silenced the call with a sigh and got back to his computer.

It didn’t matter that his retirement had been accepted, his old superior would probably never understand his reasons, after having worked with him for the better part of the last decade. And Din would be the first to admit that he had never so much as _suggested_ family life tempted him. It had all changed in the blink of an eye, though.

He qualified for military retired pay, as he had served 20 years, which he would receive every month. The money wasn’t _bad_ , but he would still need to find a way to earn more at one point. He’d estimated that he had about six months before he should start to worry, which hopefully would be enough time to figure out _where_ they would live and _what_ they would do. Two big questions he had decided to address by driving 500 miles to the small town of his youth, where he had no family and probably no friends left. After all, he’d made no effort to keep in touch with any of them. With any chance, they had all forgotten about him or moved somewhere else, which would be for the best.

“Bah, bah, bah!” the boy said, interrupting his thoughts. For all the words he wasn’t able to pronounce yet, it was easy to figure out what he wanted – most of the time. He still had trouble understanding what reaction was expected from him at 3AM when he would suddenly wake up crying, though. Din, who after two decades in the army could fall asleep anywhere in an instant, was nevertheless a very light sleeper, and could gather his thoughts upon waking in record time. But finding the right words to reassure a toddler in the middle of the night? They hadn’t trained him for that. And Google wasn’t proving very helpful.

Right now on the other hand, that wasn’t difficult – Hadi was pushing the coloring book towards him and awaited his praise, which was readily and genuinely given.

“Do you want to go?” he asked him, realizing that they were still both wearing their jackets, used to Texan temperatures despite how warm the place was. He’d have to bite the bullet at one point, and figure out what they were going to do in Nevarro for the few days he planned to stay there, but the boy frowned and reclaimed his coloring book, intent on finding more to do. He chose a frog, but looked at it strangely.

“It’s a frog,” he told him in English, as he had no idea what the Arabic word was.

“Bah?” the curly haired boy repeated, tilting his head to the side in wonder. That was a new gesture he’d recently adopted, and Din smiled, knowing he was probably copying him.

“A frog,” he told him again more slowly, “you should use this color,” he instructed, and handed him the green crayon.

Hadi nodded, looking very serious, and went back to his drawing. Din observed him for a few more minutes, then refreshed the Department of State homepage for the umpteenth time. Hadi’s adoption papers – or at least what stood for them – were in order in his native country. But since said country had no political standing at the moment due to the ongoing war and was not recognized as such by any official body in the US, he was having a hard time getting them ratified to start the process of building his identity here. It was as if he’d adopted a ghost, and it made him positively mad at his country and at the world’s current situation in general.

He cursed softly but the boy still looked up, worry etched across his face. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t understood the word, he understood _anger_ , and Din immediately tried to soothe him in Arabic, feeling terrible.

The woman who had served them food earlier suddenly appeared at their table, and Din stopped talking. He hadn’t noticed how much time they had already spent in the coffee shop and wondered if they had overstayed their welcome – she wasn’t just a barista, she was clearly the owner of this place, as he had seen no other employee. But she smiled warmly at them, and he found himself lost in the offer of more wonderful coffee.

He forgot all about Greef and all about the problematic next six months with that second cup. Visiting the rest of Nevarro would have to wait.


	2. How to get a free cup of coffee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your warm welcome for this Coffee shop AU! Introducing more characters in this chapter. I'm taking my time because I'm actually quite enjoying myself...I hope you are, too.

The sound of rain drops softly tapping against the window woke him up. It was hard to tell what time it was as there was not much light escaping from behind the curtains, but he expected it to be early still.

Sunday, he remembered dimly, and turned around so that he could check on the boy. Hadi had been in his life for a couple of months, but they had actually only shared the last few weeks together, once they’d arrived on US soil. And it still felt completely alien to him to see his tiny shape in the folding crib he had gotten in El Paso. He’d placed him next to his bed, as the room was small, and he found dark eyes staring intently at him through the mesh.

“Good morning,” he greeted him, voice rough with sleep.

“Bah!” the boy uttered, smiling around his pacifier, as if he’d patiently waited for him to finally get up.

He definitely hadn’t looked this happy a few hours ago when he’d woken him up with a piercing wail. But Din couldn’t complain – he’d gone back to sleep relatively quickly, and he’d even remembered to place him back in his crib this time. Raising his left arm over his head, his watch dial illuminated and showed him it was just past six. He groaned and rubbed his face. The smart watch had been a retiring present from his army buddies and one he’d thought would be fun to use on his runs. Now it just stayed there on his wrist as a reminder of all the exercise he _wasn’t_ getting, as the ‘new parent’ option didn’t exist. As much as his body yearned for it, he couldn’t just go for a 10k run on a whim anymore.

Right on cue, Hadi decided that he had been patient enough and made his opinion known, loudly. He didn’t need words to express that after all. Din got up, and they started their tentative morning routine. First, food. The motel room had a small kitchenette and they’d gone shopping on Thursday – a new experience for the both of them that Din didn’t necessarily want to repeat too often here, the main reason being that he was pretty sure some people had looked at them a bit curiously and he still wasn’t certain he wanted to be recognized. But that had meant getting the required formula, diapers, baby food and snacks, as well as some healthier ingredients to cook simple meals, as he didn’t relish the idea of having to rely on take-aways every day.

Once the bottle was ready, they settled in the uncomfortable, itchy armchair, and Hadi immediately quieted down, as he was too busy focusing on his milk. Din realized with a pang of regret that he wouldn’t be able to get his coffee fix today, as Sorgan would probably be closed, and he felt sadder than expected at the thought. They’d gone every morning for the last three days, each time staying a little longer and enjoying more warm beverages and home cooked food. He couldn’t quite figure out what made the place so special, and guessed it was a combination of factors. The good coffee and the free Wi-Fi, yes. The fact that it was a safe place for Hadi to wander around and play with the available toys. But he’d be lying to himself if he didn’t include the warm smile of the owner in the equation.

“Bah, bah, bah!” complained Hadi – he hadn’t noticed he wasn’t holding the bottle properly and the baby couldn’t get to the formula at the bottom of it.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, and sat the boy a bit lower on his chest so that he could drink more easily. Guess he’d have to look for another place that was open today, as he still didn’t feel like trying the coffee provided at the motel’s reception – it had probably been brewing since yesterday. Then the child grabbed his thumb and squeezed it rhythmically over the bottle and he forgot about needing caffeine for a while. _This was everything_.

Next, he focused on changing the baby and putting some clothes on him – they’d have to brave the outside world despite the rain, as neither of them wanted to remain cooped up in the tiny room all day. He’d started to ease up on the number of layers, as they had both gotten used to autumn temperatures in Colorado, but it still meant quite a lot of aerobatics to get the kid to agree to put his limbs in the required holes. Hopefully, his watch was counting it as exercise…

After that, he had five minutes flat to take a shower, brush his teeth and get dressed before the kid started to create mayhem. He’d been a bit slow the previous day and found him on top of the counter after his shower. He had no idea how he’d managed to climb up there on his own, and didn’t particularly want to find out. Din knew he could simply put him back in his crib while he got ready, but the first and only time he’d done that back in Fort Bliss, he had wailed so loudly that the Captain living next door had knocked against the wall in fright, thinking it was some kind of siren. He was still learning about the child’s traits, and he’d been warned that some of them could be unusual, because of his history. That was fine with Din – the kid was allowed to feel scared when left on his own somewhere he couldn’t escape, so he’d be careful to prevent the situation from happening.

When he eventually decided on where they would live, he’d make sure to provide the kid a safe space. But for now, blocking the access to all the outlets and hiding the kitchen knives would have to do.

It had stopped raining by the time they ventured out. The sun had only barely risen and they made their way to a nearby park where Hadi would be able to stretch his legs and run around for a bit. It was still deserted at this hour, and he had the slide and swing set to himself. Din sat on a bench and observed the boy, who’d started getting more and more adventurous as the days went by. The first time they’d gone to a park in El Paso, he wouldn’t let go of his hand. Now he would climb on top of the sets unassisted and slide down the metallic ramp with a squeal of excitement.

The doctors who’d examined him, first in his home country following the bombing of the orphanage, then upon arriving in the US, had all noted that he was growing and developing at a normal rate, and was even quite mobile for his age, which was true enough. His fear that he had somehow suffered hearing loss and that it prevented him from speaking turned out to be unfounded: he could hear perfectly well, it would just probably take him a bit longer in that area. And yes, it would go faster if he didn’t keep on switching between Arabic and English. But cutting him out of the language of his birth felt like one more thing he was taking away from him, and he couldn’t resolve himself to do it. Deep down, he also knew this was a personal choice, triggered by his own history.

Soon, the quiet neighborhood started to stir, and people joined them in the park. Hadi didn’t shy away from other kids, but he behaved more cautiously around them, and would spend a long time observing them before he felt comfortable joining in. Toddlers had their own way of communicating after all. Din noticed a few joggers and tried not to feel too envious. He wondered if he should get one of those strollers he’d seen some active moms with, but they looked absurdly huge, and he wasn’t sure the boy would appreciate his fast pace. Until now, he hadn’t felt the need to buy one, as Hadi walked quite well on his own already, and when he grew tired he was fine sitting atop his shoulders. Maybe he’d reconsider it once they finally settled somewhere.

Din sighed at the prospect of having to figure out this frankly important detail, and the child joined him on the bench, requesting biscuits, he knew. Once he was done destroying them – he had managed to steal one before they disappeared – he felt ready to stretch his own legs and get some coffee.

“You ready to leave?” he asked him in Arabic, softly, so that no one heard, and the boy nodded.

“Let’s go then,” he intoned, grabbing his backpack and placing Hadi on top of his shoulders.

“Bah, bah,” he replied happily – watching the world around him seemed to be one of his favorite pastimes, and he couldn’t blame him there as he was the same.

They walked for a while, and Din realized too late that he had automatically gravitated towards his old high school. He was surprised to see how _little_ it had apparently changed. With both his parents having worked as teachers there, it held an even more special place in his heart. He resisted walking around and checking the athletic fields, even if it was a Sunday. You never knew who you could come across, after all. Also, he was definitely starting to get hungry, and he could tell by the way Hadi kept pulling at his hair that he wasn’t the only one.

He’d walked through the city center a couple of times already since they arrived, and while it would never be described as ‘lively’, it was even more the case today. Some places had barely changed in the last 20 years – the hardware store he was sure still smelled of sawdust and mothballs, the bar his father would sometimes take him to and he’d enjoy a Coke while he had a beer – and yet others were completely new, and direct copies of other small towns’ chain stores and restaurants. That depressed him a bit, as he knew exactly the kind of breakfast they would get in those places, which explained the genuinely warm feeling of happiness taking over him when he saw that Sorgan was actually open.

The place was more crowded than usual – apparently, Sunday brunch was a thing there – but the owner greeted them with her usual kindness and they were soon seated in the back, at their ‘regular’ table. He wondered if it was just chance or if she had actually saved it for them. It was simply a coincidence, he convinced himself, but exhaled a sigh of relief after his first espresso, done to perfection as always.

Once they’d eaten – French toasts, which were brought by a small woman he hadn’t seen before, with frizzy hair and a no-nonsense attitude – and he’d started sipping on his second order of coffee – a revisited Flat White made with Guatemalan grounds he thought particularly invigorating – he found the required energy to open his laptop and go through his usual routine. Replying to emails, ignoring the ones from Greef, checking the Department of State and the UN websites to see if Hadi’s country was no longer blacklisted, then attempting to decipher local newspapers in Arabic to potentially gather more information. He was okay with spoken Arabic, and had learned several extra dialects over the years, but written Arabic was a different matter altogether, and he had to proceed slowly.

Hadi, belly full and diaper freshly changed in the restroom, was playing in the kid corner with a couple of other toddlers. They were building a tower of some kind with wooden blocks, which looked safe enough from where he was, but he still kept at least half his attention on him at all times. Din next focused his research on school districts. Since he had no preferences on where to live, he’d decided to concentrate on that factor first to give him an idea of potential places. His priority had become finding a good place for the kid to grow up. He could have stayed in Texas, sure. El Paso even, and keep on seeing old friends from the armed forces command on a regular basis. But he wanted the boy to experience seasons, like here. And not necessarily live in a big city, although he couldn’t quite make up his mind – Hadi was bound to ask about his origins at one point, and maybe it would be easier to have that talk with him while surrounded by other families who might have somewhat similar backgrounds. Something he certainly wouldn’t find here. But was that so bad?

“Bah!” the boy exclaimed, interrupting his thoughts and making him realize he had stopped paying attention to him.

“Do you want your coloring book and crayons?” he asked him, and he nodded, apparently done socializing for now. Din understood why when he saw that older kids had now joined the toddlers.

They settled down with their respective tasks – Hadi on the drawing of an elephant he intended to color in blue, him on his computer – and time passed in relative silence. The boy would ask in his own way for his input and praise every once in a while, and he would try not to cringe at the real estate statistics in northern California. He meant to find a new job, yes. Not sell a kidney. On a whim, he decided to check how much a small house with a garden would cost around here. He’d done it for a laugh, but now that he had seen the numbers he seriously started wondering if Hadi would have such a bad life in a small town like here. Up until the last few weeks before he left twenty years back, he had only fond memories of this place, so surely…

“Hadi, what are you doing?” he suddenly asked the boy, who was standing up on the booth, his back to him, and giggling loudly. “Sit down, you could fall.”

The child grumbled but did as he was told and slid back on his seat, but then another head popped up from the next booth over.

“Can’t he play anymore? What’s his name?” asked a young girl with dark hair, who was apparently the reason his boy had been giggling.

“Hadi,” he replied automatically, seeing no reason for not telling her.

“Hadi, that’s cute. And what language were you speaking to him?” she queried and Din realized too late he’d been talking in Arabic again – so much for wanting to remain discreet.

“Arabic,” he said, and sat up, trying to see who the girl was sitting with at her table, but she appeared to be on her own, and had notebooks in front of her.

“That’s so cool!” she exclaimed, and Din sat back down, surprised by her enthusiasm over the revelation. “Does he speak English too?”

“He…doesn’t speak much yet,” he admitted.

“How old is he?”

“Twenty months old.”

“But he walks great, I just saw him earlier,” the young girl remarked.

“He’s better at the walking part than the speaking part,” Din said, unsure how he was supposed to deal with this inquisitive preteen.

“Right, that makes sense,” she agreed with his logic. He still hadn’t succeeded in getting her to focus on something else. Hadi knew exactly that he was the subject of their conversation, and kept turning his head in an endless back and forth.

“Are you doing your homework?” he asked, feeling bad, but not seeing another solution.

“Ugh, you’re no fun,” she complained, grimacing theatrically.

“I’m doing my own kind of homework,” he told her, pointing at his laptop, wanting to make her feel a little better.

“Really? What kind of homework?” the girl immediately queried, and Din realized he’d played this very badly indeed.

“I’m looking for a place to live,” he admitted.

“Here in Nevarro?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “I haven’t really decided yet.”

“It’s just you and Hadi?” she pushed, but there was no malice there, just pure curiosity.

“Yeah,” Din replied simply.

“I get it, it’s just me and mom, now,” she nodded, and Din really started to wonder where the mother in question was. Surely the girl had been told she shouldn’t talk to strangers, and the last thing he wanted was to get noticed and forced to leave – he was really starting to like this place.

“Can I come and sit with you?” she asked next, and he was so stunned by her request that he didn’t say anything until she was right in front of him, Hadi between them and looking very pleased indeed.

“I’m Winta by the way,” she carried on, unfazed that he hadn’t reacted. “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna bother you while you work on your computer. Is that okay if I draw with Hadi for a bit?”

“Sure,” Din mumbled, craving a third cup of coffee to help him deal with the situation. Maybe if he ignored her she would go away on her own? But she had utterly captivated Hadi who was, it had to be said, at his most charming at the moment, and he let himself enjoy their interaction for a little while before refocusing – the girl’s mother, when she reappeared, wouldn’t like seeing her talking to a random guy, and that was fair enough in his book.

He’d been around kids the girl’s age before, mostly army brats at Fort Bliss, and he’d never really been able to explain why they gravitated towards him. What was it that made them decide that he was approachable, when adults usually didn’t come near him unless they had a good reason to?

“Didn’t you have some homework to do?” he eventually asked, eyeing the textbooks she had moved from her table.

“It’s math,” she glared at him, as if that was explanation enough.

“And?” he couldn’t help but push.

“And no one likes math.”

“Mmh,” he conceded.

“Do _you_ like math?” Winta queried with a frown.

“I kind of had to, my mom was a math teacher,” he revealed, surprising himself.

“Really? Can you help me then?” she asked, eyes wide in wonder and Din realized that, _again_ , he had completely messed things up and accomplished the _opposite_ of what he had wanted to achieve. _The girl was still there_. Worse than that, he was about to help her with her homework because sure, what else was he supposed to do now?

And so that’s what he did, figuring out 6th grade calculus problems with an 11 year old girl he’d just met. Hadi sat on his lap while they worked, and after a few minutes Din decided to stop worrying about Winta’s mother barging in and asking for an explanation. Fractions were harder than he remembered, and he struggled to get his point across at first, but the girl did want to understand, and it made all the difference in the world. It was not so very different from planning and executing an operation as an army Major. The only difference was that his troop was a preteen and his second-in-command a 20 month old currently just about to fall asleep in his arms.

“Oh no!” she suddenly exclaimed, her eyes staring at the coffee shop entrance in fright.

“What’s wrong?” Din asked, thinking they’d actually been making progress as she had seemed to grasp the concept of how fractions worked.

“It’s coach Vizsla!” she hissed, raising her notebook and hiding behind it.

Coach Vizsla? Din immediately turned towards the door, and it in the blink of an eye, he knew, as there was no mistaking that imposing shape, and copied Winta’s movement, lowering his head so that it was blocked by his laptop screen, Hadi emitting a mewl of complaint in his half asleep state.

“How do you know him?” he whispered, even though he knew he was being silly – there was no way the man could hear them.

“He’s the football coach at the high school,” the girl replied in the same tone.

“He’s coaching the Mandalorians?”

“Yeah,” Winta confirmed, unconcerned that he seemed to know so much already.

Paz Vizsla coaching football? Somehow, this made perfect sense.

“He’s a gym teacher too, that’s how I know. My friend Emma, her sister’s in high school, and he is _scary_ , she says so.”

 _Definitely_ _scary_ , Din agreed with a smile, and he risked another look. He couldn’t hear what he was ordering from where he was, but he didn’t miss the owner’s warm smile in Paz’s direction and he had to stop himself from thinking there was anything to it. And then admonish himself for having that thought in the first place – she was allowed to be kind to whoever she wanted, it was her coffee shop, and from what he’d witnessed the previous few days, she was just that kind of person, genuinely friendly to all her customers. He had to crush that silly feeling of jealousy that was probably only due to the high school memories Paz’s presence evoked.

 _Shit_ , he was looking in their direction. Din immediately lowered his head again, feeling utterly ridiculous.

“That’s okay, he left!” murmured Winta a few seconds later. And she didn’t seem to find him ridiculous at all – clearly, coach Vizsla was no laughing matter.

“Winta, are you bothering clients again? I told you a million times!”

Din looked up and had to do a double take. The angry mom had appeared but one, she wasn’t angry at him and two, _it was the owner_. He stared at her, completely frozen, and reflexively hugged Hadi a little tighter against his chest – she could definitely look fierce, too.

“But he’s been helping me with my homework!” replied the girl, equally fierce and determined.

“That’s not a good excuse!” the woman countered. “Sir, I am so sorry,” she added, turning towards him, her anger immediately evaporating, dark eyes turning softer and Din’s heart fluttering in response. He was in serious trouble, but decidedly not for the reason he had expected.

 _Focus_.

“It’s fine, don’t worry, she wasn’t bothering me,” he told her lamely.

She didn’t look convinced, arching an elegant eyebrow, and forced her daughter to apologize, which she did in a grumble.

“Really, she’s a smart kid,” Din affirmed, because the girl had been a nice distraction for both him and Hadi, who was now sleeping peacefully. He was apparently not above a bit of sucking up, and he wondered what role Paz’s appearance – and the smiles he had exchanged with the beautiful owner – had played into it.

In any case, it seemed to work, as she was now offering _him_ a smile. A small one, but definitely there.

“What coffee would you like? It’s on the house, as thanks for helping my daughter with her homework,” she said, and how could he refuse?


	3. How to fall asleep in a coffee shop

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluff for your Sunday! Hope you continue to enjoy reading this story as much as I enjoy writing it. :)

“Hadi is so cute, don’t you think so mom?”

Today was Wednesday, her day off, which Omera usually tried to spend doing something fun with her daughter, like going for a hike, or to the movies, but the late October weather was so gloomy and depressing that they had both agreed to go shopping instead. Winta needed a new winter jacket, as the season seemed particularly cold already and her current one was a couple of years old.

She wondered at first what had triggered her daughter’s words, then realized they were in the baby aisle.

“He is,” she replied non-committally, quickening her steps to reach the correct section of the store.

Omera hadn’t prevented her daughter from talking to the father and son duo, who’d kept on coming to Sorgan, though she had almost expected them not to return following Winta’s behavior on Sunday. The poor man had probably been cornered into ‘helping’ her daughter with her homework – she knew how she could get after all – and had been too polite to refuse. And yet, he’d showed up right as she was opening as usual on Monday, greeted her daughter when she came down for school, then let her play with his son in the afternoon once her homework was done – which she _was_ forbidden to bother him with again.

“But he was a little cranky yesterday,” she remarked with a frown. “I hope he’s okay.”

And it was true – the man had left earlier than usual as his small boy seemed unable to stop fussing and crying in his arms. He had looked apologetic at the noise the toddler was making, but she’d seen the tell-tale signs.

“I think he’s teething,” Omera said, then realized why her subconscious had made her walk to this part of the store. With a sigh, she picked up the object in question, conveniently located right next to her, and Winta said nothing.

“Did you tell them we were closed today?” her daughter asked her a little later, as she was trying on a couple of jackets. Omera liked how she kept calling Sorgan ‘theirs’. It had taken her a while to warm up to the coffee shop idea after all, and she was pleased with the result.

“I did,” she confirmed, handing her the next size over, as she didn’t want her to outgrow the garment too quickly.

“I like this one,” Winta announced, looking at herself in the mirror.

Her little girl was a real tomboy and preferred boys’ clothes, which were, in her own words, ‘just more practical’. Omera definitely agreed, as her daughter was a rambunctious and active child, so she let her pretty much choose her own style. That being said, she always picked the loudest colors available, and her new jacket was no exception – it was bright teal and would go well with her red beanie, scarf and gloves.

“I wonder what they’re doing right now,” she puzzled over as they were queuing at the checkout lane later on.

 _Probably having a bad time_ , Omera assumed, remembering how red and inflamed the little boy’s cheeks had looked the day before as they were leaving.

“Don’t grow too attached Winta,” she reminded her daughter, who made friends very easily, but sometimes had difficulty accepting that other people weren’t necessarily like her in that area, and preferred some solitude.

“I know, but he still hasn’t decided where they should live, it’s been like a _week_ ,” Winta replied, and she couldn’t help a small snort at her daughter’s tone – it would indeed be a week tomorrow since the man had started showing up with his son, spending his day apparently aimlessly browsing the Web.

According to her daughter, who’d spoken the most to him, he was looking for a house somewhere and checking websites she couldn’t read and were probably in Arabic. She’d been intrigued to learn that it was the language she had heard him speak to his son. Not for the first time, she was tempted to make her daughter investigate more and ask the man pointed questions, and felt terrible about it – she knew she was a curious person by nature, but also knew she _shouldn’t_ be: a decidedly bad combo.

“I wonder where Hadi’s mom is,” Winta said as they were walking back to the car, shopping complete. Omera knew she would have to put a stop to things at one point – surely it wasn’t healthy for her daughter to be so inquisitive – but she’d be lying to herself if she didn’t admit it was also one of the most burning questions she wanted to ask her espresso-loving customer. And not for reasons she was especially proud of.

“You told me he said it was just the two of them, right?” she reminded her daughter, feeling terrible for encouraging her.

“Yeah, so I guess they’re divorced or separated or something?”

“It’s usually the mother who has custody of the children,” she replied, thinking out loud, acutely aware that this wasn’t the kind of conversation you were supposed to have with your 11 year old child.

“So maybe she’s dead?” Winta realized sadly, and Omera nodded, as this seemed like the most likely explanation. She stroked her daughter hair lovingly but she was quickly back to her usual, happy self.

“It’s okay, they have each other,” she remarked lightly, strapping herself in.

“They do darling,” Omera confirmed with a warm smile as she started the car. She kept her own doubts to herself – the man didn’t strike her as recently widowed. Sure, people reacted differently to grief, but he seemed so overwhelmed with his kid. Doing his best and mostly succeeding, yes. But this wasn’t a father who’d gotten used to being around an almost two year old child. This was someone who’d been forced to adapt recently. And dammit if her curiosity wouldn’t let her find out why.

The next morning, she almost started to worry when the man and his son didn’t show up at their usual time. But then she got swiftly swept under the wave of orders and had to focus on work. Still, she couldn’t help but wonder as the morning rush started to wane if they had left the city, and the idea saddened her more than she had expected. Omera knew it was bound to happen sooner rather than later, and that she really should have listened to the piece of advice she had given her own daughter – _don’t grow too attached_.

Thankfully though, around ten, with the place almost empty, they finally arrived and _oh_ , they looked worse than she had expected. The father’s hair was wildly unkempt and it seemed that he had dressed both himself and his son in a hurry, as she was pretty sure the boy’s sweater was inside out.

“Good morning,” she still told them brightly, and he did attempt a smile, but the toddler in his arms immediately started to whine, tear tracks already visible on his red and still inflamed cheeks.

“Bad night?” she guessed and the man nodded, shoulders lowering in exhaustion. He seemed utterly worn out.

“Bad couple of days, really. He’s not been eating or sleeping. Teething,” he explained unnecessarily, keeping his words short.

“Go sit in the back, I’ll bring you your usual order.”

“Thanks,” he replied in a sigh, appreciative, and he lumbered off with his crying kid, shushing him ineffectively.

She started with the espresso – a double – then made an iced chocolate frappé for the boy, as he’d probably appreciate something cold for his gums. She replaced their usual cookies with muffins since they were softer food to chew, then figured out the Ginger Twist should also be a double, as the poor man looked as if he hadn’t slept for several days.

Hadi seemed slightly pacified by the time she brought their order to the table. He figured out the straw quickly and was surprised at the taste at first, but kept at it, so she guessed he liked the drink she had made for him. Meanwhile, his father had already inhaled his double espresso and was starting on his second coffee. He gave her a lot more cash than required and asked her to keep the change, his bloodshot eyes looking very serious indeed. She huffed but eventually accepted and left them to their late breakfast.

She took care of a couple more orders then started getting ready for the lunch rush, though it was still a couple of hours away and Peli was supposed to come and help out. The older woman had no fixed schedule when it came to giving a hand during the day – she delivered her baked goods every morning, and sometimes she came back and helped around, and sometimes she didn’t. It was fine with Omera as she knew she could handle the place on her own, but she liked having the slightly eccentric woman around, as she was always full of energy and interesting stories about her time as a World Rally Championship mechanic.

Omera looked around, glad that the child was apparently feeling a little better for the man’s sake given the lack of cries, then did a double take. Was she seeing correctly? She approached the table, slowly, and yes, there was no doubt about it – the father was fast asleep. Arms crossed over his chest, head pushed against the corner of the booth at an angle he’d definitely feel when he woke up and eyes resolutely closed. The caffeine rush must have exhausted his already overtaxed system. She let herself observe him for a few seconds – purely to make sure that he was well and truly asleep – and noted that he looked a lot younger like this, the worry lines across his face smoothed over. She had thought him to be several years older than her, but maybe she’d been wrong in her assumption and they were closer in age than she had expected.

His son sat across from him perusing a book quietly. He’d finished his drink but not his muffin, which lay discarded on its plate, barely eaten. Noticing her presence, he looked up, and handed her the storybook expectantly. The illustration on the front showed a little girl and three bears, so she assumed it was the story of Goldilocks, but since the title was in Arabic, she really couldn’t be sure.

“I’m sorry darling, I can’t read that to you,” she told him softly. His small eyebrows scrunched up and she expected fresh tears to start anew so she made a rash decision she couldn’t really explain. She just knew that she didn’t want the little boy to start crying again and wake up his father, who deserved a short nap.

“Why don’t you come with me and try some ice chips for your gums?” she suggested, holding out her hand. Omera expected the child to ignore her completely – she was a stranger after all – but the promise of something new seemed to entice him, and he took her hand and jumped to the floor. She didn’t remember holding such a small hand in hers since Winta was that young, and she was overwhelmed by a deep sense of nostalgia, which got even worse when she took the boy in her arms to seat him at the counter. Babies were always heavier than they looked and he was no exception but he smelled exactly like she remembered her daughter smelling at that age – a mixture of baby soap, cookies and… _utter_ _babyness_.

“Right mister, let’s get your order ready,” she playfully said once she got back behind the bar. The boy was following her movements like a hawk, intrigued yet focused. Omera checked that there was no customer waiting – only a couple of regulars still enjoying their drinks at the front of the café – then started the ice machine. She used it to make frappés, and expected it would be safer for the toddler than regular ice cubes.

Placing the mug in front of him, she observed his reaction. Tentatively, he placed a hand inside and noted how cold it was with a surprised ‘Ah!’. Part curious, part reckless, he tried again, and managed to grab a chip before it escaped his grip and slipped away on the counter. That caused a distinct giggle, and a second try. More successful this time, he put the iced water in his mouth. Omera wasn’t sure he understood it was meant to soothe his gums, but he did go through the whole cup in joyful concentration.

“Care to try that muffin now?” she offered, and handed him his discarded one from before. He seemed uncertain, and she could imagine the dilemma of being hungry but fearing the food would hurt.

“It’s okay, why don’t you try a tiny piece first?” Omera suggested, handing him one after breaking the cake in smaller chunks. He hesitantly accepted it and put it in his mouth, clearly expecting pain, but the ice chips had done their work, and she witnessed his joy at the realization with a wide smile of her own. He attacked the muffin with gusto, and looked up at her expectantly when he was done. _Oh_ , the boy was _hungry_. Since his father had handed her too much cash, she had no qualms about giving him a second muffin – which he destroyed on his own this time. She was also pretty certain she would have given him a muffin anyway, he was just too cute for words and she was rapidly falling for him.

_Don’t get too attached._

A few clients showed up and she had to prepare their drinks, but the boy seemed happy where he was, observing her as she worked at the various instruments of her trade and admiring the cakes she took out of the display case.

“Don’t give me those eyes,” she pretended to complain when he wouldn’t stop staring at her with his huge round orbs then at the chocolate-glazed donuts he had – granted – never tried before.

“Okay, fine,” she sighed once she had dealt with the latest wave of customers.

She had caved in minutes and felt slightly miffed, especially given how pleased with himself the toddler looked as he was slowly munching on the donut, his appetite clearly back. Omera was going to suggest something healthier for lunch, such as soup, as that was _way_ too much sugar for a toddler and she hoped he wouldn’t crash too soon – and more importantly, wait for his dad to wake up.

Which actually happened sooner than she had expected. He couldn’t have been napping for more than twenty minutes when she heard a distinct curse behind her, then a worried call for his son.

“Hadi?”

The little boy’s head immediately swiveled in his father’s direction.

“Bah! Bah!” he exclaimed, but he was covered in chocolate and couldn’t jump down on his own from the bar stool as it was too high. The man rushed over, hair even more in disarray and eyes wide open in panic – the nap had apparently not been that beneficial and now Omera felt a little guilty for handing him back an over excited toddler in the midst of a sugar rush with hands and face covered in chocolate glazing.

“You got him to eat something?” he marveled instead.

“Yes,” Omera replied, surprised that he would focus on this instead of his outside appearance, but secretly glad. “Two muffins and a donut,” she admitted, mentally cringing.

“That’s great!” he praised. “Thank you so much, he hasn’t been eating because of… How did you manage it?” he wondered, ineffectively attempting to wipe the chocolate with paper towels.

“I gave him some ice chips to munch on,” she revealed.

“Ice chips… I should try that next time but there’s no freezer at the motel. I got him a teething gel but he hates it,” he rambled on, not looking at her but blindly accepting a clean rag she had just soaked in warm water so that he could wash the chocolate away.

“I fell asleep,” he admitted, looking up guiltily at her. She would have laughed if he didn’t seem so serious.

“I saw.”

“Thank you for taking care of Hadi, you should have woken me up, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, there was no customer to take care of and he really was no trouble,” she told him as though she hadn’t been debating the reasons that had led to her decision to intervene at length.

“How much do I owe you? For the ice chips and the muffins and the…”

“You’re covered,” she interrupted him, and hoped she looked as convincing as he had earlier when he persuaded her to keep the change. Apparently so, because he nodded and picked up his now clean boy from the bar stool. Omera hoped she’d get to do that again – they barely had time to get acquainted.

“Thanks again,” he said before regaining their booth, and the smile almost reached his tired eyes this time.

Omera had to deal with the start of the lunch rush hour afterwards, but thankfully Peli showed up and she was able to focus on preparing drinks only. She kept throwing furtive glances at the father and son's table though, wondering if either or both of them had succumbed to sleep, but it looked like the man was reading stories to his boy. Peli took down their order – lentils soup and no coffee, good call – and Omera hoped Hadi would once again be able to eat.

And yet surely enough, not long after they were served their food, she started hearing exhausted toddler sobbing behind her. She asked Peli to keep an eye on things although the noon rush had passed, and got what she had bought the previous day on a whim while shopping with Winta out of the freezer.

The cries grew louder as she approached, and she could also hear the man’s deep voice behind the child’s sobs, speaking what she expected to be soothing words in Arabic. The boy in his arms was shaking his head and rubbing his eyes, clear signs of an impending nap that just wouldn’t come because he was too tired and his gums too sore. _And probably still high on his sugar rush as well_ , she thought guiltily.

“Here, have him try this,” she suggested without preamble, handing him the plastic teething ring. “There’s another one in the freezer for later just in case.”

He accepted the object without a word, clearly at the end of his rope, and showed it to the little boy.

“Look at that _habibi_ , you wanna try?” he asked hopefully, moving the colorful ring in front of his son’s eyes. Frowning and crying still, it still seemed to pique his interest and he grabbed it with both his hands. He seemed surprised by the cold, and Omera thought that maybe he remembered how the ice chips had worked earlier, because he immediately put it in his mouth and started munching on it.

The duo emitted a long, drawn in sigh as the tears gradually stopped.

“Finally,” he whispered, the relief palpable in his voice, as Hadi continued to focus on the toy.

“It was the only thing that worked with Winta at that age, I’m glad it’s helping,” Omera added, picking up their plates.

“I don’t know how to thank you,” he replied, visibly uncomfortable.

“Just keep coming to Sorgan to get your coffee,” she offered lightly as she left their table, his eyes leaving the sight of his calming son to focus on her instead.

Omera cringed once her back was to him – what kind of answer was that?

She tried to forget her blunder as she was clearing the other tables and preparing a couple of takeaway orders. She was distracted and paying less attention than usual to Peli’s tales, something the older woman clearly noticed.

“I think you need one of those,” the ex-mechanic said, pointing at her prized Nuova Simonelli espresso machine, “then have a talk with that man you haven’t stopped observing over there,” she continued, this time pointing towards the back of the coffee shop.

“I haven’t been…”

“You _have_ ,” Peli interrupted her. “Now go, I can handle the place while you talk to him. I’ll yell if someone asks for a drink I can’t make on my own.”

And now Omera realized that yes, she might have been throwing casual glances towards the duo’s table, as she just caught herself doing it again. It looked like the boy had finally succumbed to sleep in his father’s arms. Unsurprisingly, he seemed to be fighting sleep himself, nodding off every so often then quickly sitting back up. She therefore decided to make two espressos.

“I have to say though…” started Peli again as she was preparing the drinks – there was no way to stop the woman voicing her opinions. “I’ve known you for five years and he is the first person I’ve seen you remotely interested in. You’ve had much less scruffy-looking options.”

“He’s not scruffy-looking!” Omera quickly defended him, although he’d been showing up looking gradually more and more disheveled, that was true. But he was a single dad with a teething toddler, it was no wonder really.

Peli harrumphed in reply but let Omera focus on making the espressos. There had been several customers in Sorgan over the years who’d showed interest in her in obvious and not so obvious ways, but she’d bartended her way through college and she was well-versed in getting rid of overbearing customers. The man definitely didn’t belong in that category though, and she was tempted to set the record straight with Peli but something held her back. That nagging feeling that maybe, just maybe, she was a tiny bit right.

She grabbed the two espressos with a sigh and made her way to the booth. The man was valiantly managing not to fall asleep, but it was clearly a struggle. His son on the other hand was dead to the world, head heavy against his father’s chest and tiny fists clenched. He probably would have been more comfortable lying down – or in a bed – but she remembered that desperate feeling of finally getting a child to sleep and not wanting to move for fear they’d wake up again.

“Thought you might need one of those,” Omera said quietly, placing one cup in front of him.

“Thank you so much, please add it to my tab with everything else,” he replied, his tired eyes looking up briefly before focusing on the coffee and staring at it as if it was going to solve all his problems. Omera dearly wished that was the case but knew it was impossible – otherwise, she’d be a millionaire.

“Okay if I sit here for a bit?” she asked, gesturing at her own cup, suddenly unsure.

“Of course,” he replied, the surprise obvious in his raised eyebrows. Unless she was imagining things, which was very possible, she thought he looked a tiny bit pleased, too.

“I know your son’s name and you know my daughter’s, but I don’t think we’ve introduced ourselves yet. I’m Omera,” she offered after sitting down.

“Din,” he replied in a murmur. “My name is Din,” he repeated after a few seconds when he realized she might not have heard him the first time.

 _Din_.

“First molars or canines?” she asked next, eyeing the discarded teething ring on the table that had managed to work wonders.

“Upper canines, his first molars are already out, but I think the lower canines are showing too,” he replied, gazing at the sleeping child.

“Poor bud, they’re the most painful, Winta was a mess. But you should be good for a little while after that.”

“Yeah,” he sighed tiredly.

“Did his other teeth cause him that much pain coming out?” she wondered, wording her question carefully, as she was touching on the very matter that had been bothering her. Where was the boy’s mother? Why did he behave like a new dad?

“I wouldn’t know, I wasn’t there,” he admitted, shrugging, then looked as though he regretted having said so much.

Omera frowned and looked at him more closely. The tousled hair and hastily put on clothes. The unruly stubble. The kind yet haggard eyes. Was that really a man who’d refuse to be part of his child’s life until he was apparently forced to change his mind? She was usually a good judge of character, but then she’d been wrong before. Still, the way he was carefully yet inexpertly cradling his son right now screamed at her that there was more to this, but asking more pointed questions would be too intrusive. He was in a vulnerable position because he was so tired, and she was taking advantage and felt terrible about it.

“No laptop today?” she asked, changing the subject altogether, and he seemed more at ease with that question.

“No, I’m taking a break. I can’t really concentrate,” he said with a forced laugh, back to holding his boy with both his arms now that he was done with his espresso. Clearly, that child wasn’t going anywhere.

“Winta says you’re looking for somewhere to live?” she tried, unsure if he would be as open with her. It was just easier to admit some things to a child than to an adult, after all.

“Yeah, I’m still undecided, maybe somewhere on the West Coast. But we can’t stay at the motel for much longer,” he revealed.

“Oh?” she pressed, hoping she didn’t sound too saddened by the news.

“We’ve been there for a week, it’s not really viable or economical in the long run. We could use a bigger place, especially a bigger kitchen,it doesn’t even have a freezer for those teething toys and…and I’m just rambling, sorry, you don’t need to know all this stuff,” he stopped himself, raising his right hand to rub his face, the movement harsh and punishing. He was so utterly exhausted and she felt for him. Looking back, he hadn’t looked rested a week earlier upon his arrival either, far from it, and his state had gradually worsened ever since.

“What made you stop here in Nevarro?” she couldn’t help asking, and she saw him hesitate again before answering, his dark eyes scanning the room as if he wanted to check that no one was listening in on their conversation.

Omera couldn’t be sure if this was just fatigue making him behave like that, or if he was really worried about something. She was just about to tell him to forget she said anything and leave him and his son in peace when he finally replied.

“I grew up here. Haven’t been back for years and I just thought… I don’t know, guess I wanted to see the place again.”

She definitely hadn’t expected that answer and wondered why she hadn’t figured it out sooner. Why else would anyone choose to stay in Nevarro for so long?

“Then isn’t there any family who could help you with your son?” she reasoned.

“No, it’s just me,” Din replied with a half-smile. “My parents died a long time ago and there’s no other family here.”

“I’m sorry,” she immediately offered, and he shrugged. Omera could very well imagine how bittersweet it must be for him to be back here. But surely he still had friends. Acquaintances, at least. He had chosen to come back for a reason. And yet he preferred not to broadcast his presence and remained in the darkest part of her coffee shop all day. Clearly, there were a lot of issues on which he hadn’t made up his mind yet.

“You must think I’m utterly hopeless and out of my depth, trying to take care of this baby on my own,” he deadpanned when she hadn’t said anything for a while, wrongly interpreting her silence as reproachful. The way he’d so casually voiced those words told her they’d been directed at him in the past, and probably with a lot more venom.

“You’re not hopeless, you’re trying to do your best, and it shows,” she told him. “Parents normally get gradually used to taking care of their kids, and they’re pretty easy at first when they’re born. You’ve just been thrown in the mix at possibly the most difficult age.”

“Just possibly?” he asked, eyebrows raised in mirth.

“Well, three is a different kind of struggle…” she recalled with an easy smile. “Get ready to answer more questions than you ever thought possible. Around four Winta had a whole period when she simply refused to go to bed. Then at five there were nightmares. And school at six and the _tantrums_ … It’s easier now but she’ll be a teenager soon, so I imagine I’m in for some more surprises.”

“Great, thank you, that was very helpful,” Din snorted, and looked down at his sleeping child with worried expectations. “I know it probably wasn’t the most rational decision but…I couldn’t see any other solution, really,” he carried on, still focused on the little boy, otherwise he would have seen how puzzling his cryptic words were to her.

“I adopted him,” he revealed, finally looking up, eyes focused on her. “Two months ago. And I won’t bore you with the details, but let’s just say we’re still working out the kinks so I really appreciate all your help, especially today, thank you. I would have never figured out the frozen teething ring thing on my own.”

Omera didn’t know what to say. His admission both made perfect and zero sense at once. Perfect sense because it explained why he was so cautious with his child – two months was an awfully short time in the life of a parent. But decorum be damned, she was very tempted to throw caution to the wind and insist that _no_ he wasn’t boring her with the details, _on the contrary_. She needed more. A _lot_ more.

With more questions than answers, she left their table after insisting he was very welcome and she needed to get back to work. Omera suggested they’d probably both be more comfortable at their motel for a nap and that it didn’t look like the boy would wake up anytime soon, but he simply nodded, and she knew he’d spend the rest of the afternoon there, observing his son quietly and doing his best not to fall asleep himself.

Looking at Peli who stared at her expectantly once she was back behind the counter, she suddenly had an idea that might make Din stay in Nevarro a little longer. She refused to feel guilty – it was clear he had more to do here, and this would hopefully push him in the right direction.

“I don’t like that look,” uttered the ex-mechanic with a sigh, and Omera simply smiled at her.


	4. How to enjoy a double espresso in good company

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the love, your comments and kudos mean the world to me! :)

“How long have you been driving this thing?” was the first thing Peli asked him after he had parked in front of her house and released Hadi from his car seat.

Din hadn’t expected the woman to remark on this, but perhaps he should have. Omera had warned him that the ex-mechanic could be a little eccentric, but according to her, she had a heart of gold. Din had no way to be sure of that, but she _had_ been okay with him showing up on Friday afternoon to check out the converted garage she was renting. She’d been quick to warn him in Sorgan the previous day that the place was small, that her price was final, and that he needed to be out by December because she had potential bookings, though. He’d been utterly exhausted then, but still ready to accept anything better than the motel, so he’d immediately asked when he could come visit. And Din didn’t mind her no-nonsense attitude really, as he was quite used to it from the army.

“Twenty years,” he admitted, Hadi letting him know loud and clear from the safety of his arms that he hadn’t managed to fall asleep during the ten minutes’ drive from the motel, but that it had been a close call.

Peli was standing still on the sidewalk, looking at his metallic grey Jeep dubiously, her eyes lingering on the driver’s door. Silver letters used to spell ‘Cherokee’ on that side, but only the R had survived the years.

“Is it the 4.0 liter straight-six engine at least?” she asked, arms akimbo.

“Yes,” he confirmed with a sigh – he’d come here to check on a place to live, not to discuss his car.

“Have you gone over the 200k mark yet?” she added.

“Yeah,” he replied, hoping she wouldn’t go into a whole spiel citing why it was so irresponsible to still be driving that car – he’d heard it plenty of times before at Fort Bliss from other soldiers who thought they were experts, and he was tired of it. That car _meant_ something to him: they’d been through a lot together, and it was still driving fine.

“Well, the XJs are reputed to be pretty much unkillable if you take care of them properly, come inside,” Peli grumbled, concluding their discussion on the subject and not taking the time to check that he was following before leading him away from the curb. Was that her conceding in a roundabout way that maybe he wasn’t so bad because he knew how to take care of his car?

Her house seemed to have gone through several transformations over the years – an extra wing there, enlarged windows, renovated roof… It was impossible to see what the house had looked like at the start, and it gave it a wonky but friendly feel, he thought. The garage in question was completely separated from the main house, and looked like a tiny version of it. It still had a wide garage door at the front, but Peli told him matter of factly that it didn’t work anymore. The actual door was to the side.

“It’s not much,” she warned him again as they entered, “but here we go.”

The place was indeed compact, but well arranged. Straight floating stairs led to an upper level with two small bedrooms, and the downstairs had an open kitchen, tiny bathroom and living space with dining table, comfortable looking sofa and a TV in a corner.

“There’s no cable,” she informed him while pointing in that direction, “but Wi-Fi is included.”

“That’s great,” voiced Din, who definitely cared more about accessing the Internet than what was on TV.

She showed him the rooms upstairs – small indeed, but that would be fine for him and the boy as one had bunk beds and the other a double bed. Din had understood from their conversation the previous day in Sorgan that she was mostly renting the place to families during the summer and winter holidays. Downstairs, the kitchen appliances looked recent, and yes, there was a freezer. He’d be able to actually cook food and there seemed to be enough space for the kid to roam around without hurting himself.

“You can access the garden from here,” Peli showed him, opening a door that directly led to a huge backyard that was shared with the main house. It seemed mostly overgrown, but the old trees probably provided welcome shade in the summer. He’d wondered since his arrival why an ex-mechanic would decide to abandon her garage and had his answer when he spotted her open-air cluttered workshop at the very back of the more aptly named field. It was three times the size of the place he’d just visited.

“Sometimes I still work on cars,” she said, shrugging, answering a question he hadn’t asked.

There was suddenly a bark in the distance, and Din felt Hadi tense up at the sound in his arms.

“Oh, I forgot – are you okay with dogs?” Peli asked distractedly and clearly too late, as said dog was now approaching quickly. It looked huge but friendly enough, with its tail wagging and tongue out, so Din knelt down and held out his hand, the boy clutching his neck tighter and hiding his face against his shoulder.

“Careful, he can be wary of strang-” started Peli, then stopped herself when her dog immediately started licking Din’s hand after sniffing it.

“Look Hadi, he’s fine,” he tried to cajole the boy, turning him towards the hairy dog. “Here, hold out your hand,” he demonstrated, as the mutt encouraged Din to pet him with pleased whines. Slowly, carefully, staring at him more than the dog, Hadi copied his movement, trusting his judgement. He was rewarded for his patience with an earnest lick, and he giggled happily. Din sighed in relief and stood up again. Hadi let his disappointment at being separated from his new best friend known, and the shaggy dog barked in reply.

“Guess he likes you,” Peli said, looking markedly miffed – she had apparently expected her dog to be as wary of them as she still was.

“What’s his name?” he asked to cover his laughter at her reaction.

“Pit,” she replied briskly, and Din nodded, even though her answer was puzzling. The mongrel was probably a lot of things, but not a pit-bull.

She then led the two of them inside her own home. The downstairs was clearly dedicated to her new passion, baking. The kitchen was huge, with two ovens and a large countertop that likely came in handy to make all the food she provided daily for Sorgan. It seemed that something was actually already cooking, as Hadi perked up in his arms, and asked to be put down. He immediately gravitated towards the oven, but stopped when Din warned him it could be hot.

Peli seemed pleased by the sight nonetheless, and that was saying a lot, as she hadn’t smiled once since they arrived. Granted, he had never seen her actually smile in a meaningful way, and as much as he wanted to take her up on her offer to let them have the garage, he didn’t want her to feel cornered into agreeing to it. Was he strong-arming her into a decision? It had been suggested by Omera in the first place and the two women seemed to be friends on top of co-workers but he didn’t want to come between them. The fact that she had barely said anything apart from showing him around and ask about his car worried him.

Keeping an eye on the kid, who seemed transfixed by the muffins currently rising in the oven, they started discussing the price. Peli apparently expected him to try to haggle, but he’d already done the math in his head and knew that it would be cheaper than the motel in the long run. Still full of doubts given her lack of enthusiasm, he mentioned how pleased he was about this change of accommodation, thinking maybe she needed to hear it directly.

She nodded, looking slightly more at ease and got the rental agreement papers for him to sign. They had decided on a month, and he would pay her weekly.

“Din Djarin, that’s an interesting name,” Peli hummed, looking over his shoulder as he wrote, standing over her kitchen table.

“Hmm,” Din replied, focused on the information he was providing while keeping part of his attention on Hadi, who still hadn’t moved from his coveted spot by the oven.

“You’re not Alec Djarin’s son, are you?”

 _Oh, shit_.

He stopped what he was doing and looked at Peli. Her eyes were unreadable but her stare intent. He’d gain nothing by lying to her and she didn’t deserve that from him.

“I am,” he replied.

“Oh, my boy, I am so sorry,” she told him, quickly grabbing his upper arm before releasing it. “Why didn’t you say?”

“I had no idea it would be relevant,” he shrugged, looking at his feet.

“Of course it’s relevant,” Peli cut in harshly, then exhaled loudly, regretting her tone. She sat down at the table and her expression told Din that what she was about to share with him was important, and that he’d better listen. He had never seen her look so animated before, so he convinced himself it was a good sign instead of worrying over the implications of her knowing who he was.

He made sure that the kid was still captivated by the baking muffins and sat down across from her.

“Your father was my physics teacher in high school,” Peli started reminiscing. “A good man,” she stressed. “He motivated me to go after what I really wanted and study automobile repairs, no matter what my parents and the other teachers said.”

Din could definitely see it. Omera had told him she used to work on the World Rally Championship stage – that was quite something, but a tough world for a woman to be accepted in to be sure.

“We didn’t have that many young teachers at school, and most of them took a passing interest in our career choices. Your father…both your parents, really, were not like that, and really pushed us to do our best.”

“It wasn’t to everybody’s liking though,” recalled Din, who’d sometimes had a hard time being a teachers’ kid in high school.

“How old are you?” she asked curtly, her no nonsense attitude shining through once again.

“Thirty-eight,” he replied, almost adding a “m’am” at the end given her tone, but still threading carefully so as not to reveal anything he didn’t want to.

“So you must have been very young when I was in high school… Around three, I guess. I didn’t know they had a son then.”

Din shrugged, hoping she’d move on to another subject.

“I can’t recall your mother’s name, I’m sorry. What was it?”

“Maja,” he supplied, his throat almost closing up around the name he so rarely spoke out loud.

“She almost made me like math, that woman. Bless her,” she cackled, and Din smiled sadly.

“I’m so sorry about what happened to them,” said Peli, seeing his reaction. “I’d been gone from Nevarro for a while when they had their accident and you had already left when I came back. I only learned about it then.”

Din looked at Hadi and for once wished that he would start crying or do _something_ that would force him to cut this conversation short. Something that would allow him to take him in his arms again and hug him to his chest. But the boy had now sat down on the floor and stared at the oven door, completely entranced. Clearly, toddlers didn’t need TVs.

“I know a thing or two about leaving town right after high school myself, so what have you been doing all these years?” Peli wondered, figuring out on her own that it was best to start focusing her questions on something else.

“Oh, I enlisted,” he replied simply.

“The army?” He nodded. “What did you do?”

“I trained as a medic at first, did that for a while…” he started, forcing himself not to fidget while he talked. “Then I was convinced to transition as an officer and did various things. I just retired last month as a Major,” he continued, summarizing the last twenty years as best as he could without saying too much.

“Impressive,” she offered, and he was glad that she didn’t add anything more. She thankfully seemed to belong to that rare category of people who were neither praising his sacrifice for his country or such bullshit nor barely managing to mask their scorn at his choice of a thankless career spent following dubious orders.

The oven suddenly beeped, and Hadi started babbling excitedly, very much aware that it meant that the muffins would be released from their hot prison and good to eat.

“Careful now,” Peli said, as Din held the boy back then took him in his arms so that he could admire the muffins on the counter in their final, baked glory. Hadi didn’t seem to mind that he was holding him a bit tighter than usual, as long as he could keep staring at the baked goods.

“They need to cool down for a few minutes but then we’ll be able to eat them, why don’t I make some tea?” she suggested.

“Really, it’s fine, we should get going and you must be busy,” Din tried, even if he knew it would be very difficult to leave the room without Hadi attempting to eat his own weight in cake form.

“I’ve baked more than required, Omera won’t be missing them, come on,” she cajoled and he easily relented, convincing himself he was doing it for the boy.

“So what’s the story there?” she asked later as they were all sitting at the table with the promised tea and muffins. It had been a challenge to convince Hadi to wait until they cooled down, but now that they were safe enough to eat, he’d already devoured one and was working on his second, at Peli’s insistence.

“It’s complicated,” Din admitted with a sigh.

“Is the mother around?” she pressed.

“It’s just me,” he replied. It was the answer he usually gave when asked. Omera was an exception and he didn’t know why exactly. But she’d been so helpful with Hadi that he thought she deserved the whole story. Or at least, most of it.

“Alright, you don’t have to tell me,” she huffed, but it wasn’t spiteful, and they observed the child in silence for a while.

“I also know a thing or two about coming back to Nevarro after such a long time away,” she shared.

“Why did you decide to come back?” he asked, curious to see if she was able to put it into words, something he still couldn’t do.

“Well, it’s been almost ten years now and I’m still not quite sure. I guess I just missed the place,” she admitted. “What are _you_ hoping to find here?”

“I just needed somewhere to stay while I figure out what I’m gonna do,” Din said. It had been a week already and he was no closer to an answer.

“I hope you can do that here,” Peli stated, and he smiled, as that seemed to finally cement her acceptance of them moving in next door.

* * *

“So how’s Peli’s garage?” asked Winta on Sunday afternoon. They had moved in the previous day and although Sorgan was now 20 minutes away on foot instead of the previous 5, he hadn’t stopped coming.

“It’s very nice, much better than a garage,” he replied to the girl, who was once again supposed to do her homework at the next table and not bother him but had trouble accepting that request from her mother.

Din and the kid had slept pretty well for once, even if he had a hard time convincing Hadi that he needed to sleep in his own room now. The house was a lot quieter than the motel in the morning, and they had been able to grab a couple more hours of rest after dawn. Although he seemed better, Hadi had still accepted the teething ring Omera kept for him in the coffee shop’s freezer earlier, and only wanted to be read stories today. That was fine with Din, as the place was quiet at the moment, but he’d been reading the same book for the fifth time in a row. He’d wanted to get better at reading Arabic, yes. But this was proving pointless as he certainly knew the words by heart now.

“What’s the story about?” wondered Winta next, as he was in the process of reading the book for the sixth time, her head comically poking out from the other booth.

“Bah! Bah!” complained Hadi, as Din had stopped reading. But for once, he welcomed Winta’s interruption, as the words were starting to blur and make him sleepy.

“It’s _Goldilocks and the Three Bears_ , he’s fixating on that story, I don’t know why, it’s been going on for a few days. I’ve tried suggesting other books but he just wants that one.”

“That’s because repeating something is reassuring for him, it’s normal,” said Omera, appearing in his line of vision armed with two coffees.

“Thank you,” he said warmly as she placed one of the cups in front of him. It was like she had a sixth sense when it came to his caffeine intake, as he’d clearly been running low.

“Are you done with your homework Winta?”

“No,” her daughter grumbled in reply.

“If you want to take a break, a dishwasher load just finished running and the cups need to be put away,” she suggested.

“Okay!” the girl said happily, rushing towards the counter. Apparently, sorting cups was more interesting than homework, but Din could understand that.

“Can I sit down with you? The place is quiet and I need a break too, I think.”

“Of course,” Din said, surprised that she would even feel the need to ask.

“Thanks,” she replied, then handed half a cookie to Hadi from the pocket of her apron, which the child happily accepted with a pleased coo, forgetting that his story had been interrupted.

“You don’t have to do that…” Din objected half-heartedly.

“It got crushed, I wouldn’t have been able to sell it anyway,” Omera shrugged. “And this little one deserves all the cookies, I can’t help myself,” she added with a smile, and Hadi obviously giggled cutely, because what else was new. Din tried very hard not to feel jealous of the attention his toddler was receiving and focused on his espresso instead.

“Peli said you moved in?” Omera mentioned next.

“Yes, thanks again for suggesting it to her in the first place, it’s really a big improvement for us.”

“You’re welcome,” she replied. “I’m glad that she apparently also warmed up to you.”

“Yeah, I wasn’t convinced we’d get there, I’ll be honest with you.”

“She can be a bit standoffish, but she means well,” Omera remarked, and Din nodded, as this time he had proof of that.

“We also met her dog,” he recounted.

“Oh, does he like you?” she asked with a grimace. “I should have mentioned it, I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, it’s fine, he even likes Hadi, although I’m pretty sure that was the first time he saw a dog.”

“And Peli swears he is a sweetheart even if he doesn’t really look the part, I’m certain you’ll all get on well.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, and they enjoyed their coffee in silence for a while, Hadi making short work of his cookie – he’d been tempted to request a piece for himself, but knew it was probably not a good idea.

“This is nice,” he couldn’t help but blurt out, because it really was. Sitting down saying nothing and just enjoying coffee with someone was not something he was used to do. Omera hummed in agreement.

“You’re my only regular who enjoys double espressos, I’m liking this too.”

“Long day?” he wondered, sensing that she was more tired than usual. Hadi had started babbling again next to him, probably about to make sure he hadn’t forgotten that he was supposed to read him his book, but he thought he still had a few minutes before he started to really mean it.

“Sundays are always a bit harder because we do brunch instead of lunch, but the rest of the afternoon should be quiet now,” she exhaled, securing an errant strand of hair that had escaped her intricate braid behind her ear.

“It’s nice of you to be open on Sunday desp-”

“Bah! Bah!” Hadi interrupted a little louder, scrunching up his eyebrows and looking at him expectantly.

“So that’s you then,” laughed Omera.

“That’s me what?” Din asked, confused.

“He was saying that the other day and I wondered what he meant, but he was calling you, it makes sense,” she nodded, convinced.

“But that’s just… He’s babbling, that’s all,” he refuted, then saw the book Hadi was holding in both his hands, desperate for him to read it again, and started thinking that maybe he’d got this all wrong.

“What are you saying, _habibi_?” he asked the boy in a whisper, a lump forming in his throat at the sudden realization that his son might have been addressing him all this time.

“Baba!” he exclaimed, looking angrier by the second and banging his storybook against the table.

Din exhaled sharply and felt tears rushing to his eyes. He tried to convince himself that they came so quickly because he was exhausted, but deep down he knew, and he hugged the boy to his chest and pressed a quick kiss against his neck. That earned him a begrudging giggle, as he was still mad at him for not paying attention to him earlier.

“It’s…it’s the book,” he tried to explain to Omera who had witnessed the whole scene without a word. Din knew he wasn’t making any sense and probably looked utterly overwhelmed by the revelation because that was how he felt.

“ _Goldilocks and the Three Bears_ , right?” she asked and he nodded, unable to release the child or speak coherent words. Omera didn’t seem to mind though. She radiated her usual warmth and he let it envelop him. One extra layer of pure, unadulterated joy.

“In the story, ‘Papa’ from ‘Papa Bear’, it’s ‘Baba’ in Arabic. I hadn’t realized…” and he stopped again, remembering all the instances in the previous days when Hadi hadn’t been babbling but rather saying his first word to him.

“That’s probably why he likes this book so much,” she noted.

“Yeah,” Din sighed, and he felt the boy settle against him as he stroked his back slowly, on the cusp of falling asleep.

Omera left the table and she had one last fond smile for them that he didn’t see because he was too busy observing Hadi succumbing to sleep in his arms. He was still captivated by the sight when Winta rejoined the other booth and therefore missed the worried hand signals she was directing at him. But he didn’t miss the imposing silhouette approaching the table or the booming voice he would have recognized anywhere.

“So the rumors are true then, you _are_ back in town.”

“Hi Paz,” Din replied, resigned – this meeting had been bound to happen after all.


	5. How to burn your tongue with coffee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay on this one! What can I say, It's Paz's fault, obviously...

_6 th grader Din Djarin wasn’t sure junior high was the place for him. It was just too big and too loud and too much all at once. And because his elementary school had been in the next town over, he knew nobody. He was the proverbial ‘new kid’._

_All in all, it sucked big time._

_His parents tried to reassure him and tell him making friends sometimes took time. So Din resolved to pack some comics to read during recess and lunch break and attempt to figure out who everybody was and what group he could possibly try to belong to, as they all seemed to form tight circles already._

_And if that didn’t work… Well, he was fine on his own._

_He quickly realized he wasn’t the only kid who didn’t socialize much, but there was one boy in particular who stood out. And not just because he was easily one of the biggest and tallest. Din learned he was only a year above him, but that he was bad news, and should be avoided at all costs._

_Naturally, he decided they should therefore become friends._

_Which didn’t turn out to be so easy. Paz, as this was his name, apparently also liked being on his own. And where Din would simply ignore kids who annoyed him, the bigger boy had a more expedited response._

_“Can you tell me who hit you? Was it Mr Vizsla here?”_

_It was the second week of school, and he was already in the principal’s office. Din dearly hoped the man wouldn’t call his parents. He looked at the bigger boy sitting next to him and noticed straight away that in his case, it definitely wasn’t the first time he was visiting this place under such circumstances. Despite the punch to the face, he felt bad for him. He’d heard stories about how everybody thought he was trouble because his dad was serving life without parole upstate and his big brother was an asshole who was probably headed to the same place. You didn’t choose your parents, and Din knew this intimately. So his answer to the principal came easily._

_“No sir, it wasn’t him.”_

_Paz had cornered him as soon as they were out of the office and wanted to know why he’d lied. Din had shrugged because he wasn’t sure he could explain it._

_“I don’t know.”_

_“I’m sorry I hit you,” he grumbled, likely only half meaning it._

_“It’s okay, I get it.”_

_“What?”_

_“I’m the new kid, it’s fine.”_

_Paz looked at him strangely. The same look he’d given him when he realized Din hadn’t started crying after his fist connected with his face. He’d been stunned, yes. Surprised to find himself flat on the ground. But that was about it._

_“Why were you following me around?” the older boy pressed._

_“I wasn’t, I wanted to ask you a question.”_

_“What question?”_

_“Do you like Legos?”_

_A weird, not always acknowledged friendship had emerged afterwards. Because yes, Paz wouldn’t admit it straight away, but he did like Legos. And comics. And being invited to a house for dinners and sleepovers where he wasn’t judged because he was a Vizsla. But it had been a turning point for Din too, as the other boy introduced him to sports, always pushing him to be better and stronger and meaner. He’d unashamedly goaded him into joining the football team in high school, the Mandalorians, and despite moving in different circles by then – Paz was destined to be an athlete while Din was one of the best students in his class – their unpredictable but close relationship didn’t waver._

_Up until Paz left for college and Din’s parents died in senior year._

* * *

Contrary to Omera who always asked if it was okay beforehand, Paz had no qualms about sitting down across from him at the booth. But at least it meant he was no longer towering over him and for that Din’s neck was grateful. How tall was he now, 6’5”? He was holding a takeaway cup that he placed in front of him. Din assumed he’d probably been on his way out when he noticed him.

“How long have you been back?” the big man asked.

“About a week,” Din replied, making sure Hadi was still fast asleep before laying him down next to him and covering him with his coat – he could tell the conversation might last a while, and that it might not be a very enjoyable one. And with Paz, it paid to always be careful and have both hands free at all times – the punch he’d given him on their first meeting in junior high hadn’t been the last.

“And so now you’ve decided you’re done sulking or are you leaving tomorrow?”

That hurt, but it was kind of deserved, so Din only sighed before replying.

“I’m staying for a month actually, I’m renting a place.”

“Peli’s converted garage, right? I heard.”

 _So why did you ask me if I was leaving tomorrow, then?_ Din wanted to add, but didn’t. Paz had a gift for getting on his nerves, and that hadn’t changed in the last two decades apparently.

“How are you?” he asked instead blandly, in the hope that the generic question would be accepted for what it was – the start of a levelheaded conversation.

The man shrugged his imposing shoulders. Paz had always been strong, but he’d become a mountain. And yet, he still had the same surprisingly kind eyes and open face he associated with the best part of his childhood. His first real friend. He’d never met anyone else quite like him – which was probably for the best, as one Paz was more than enough.

“Oh, right, last games of the season?” Din realized, eyeing the blue baseball cap on his head, adorning the Mandalorian logo in silver. The month of November was almost upon them.

“Last game this Friday,” Paz confirmed, “an away game.” And Din thought he looked a little taken aback but somehow pleased he knew that much about him already – all thanks to Winta, who was hiding in the next booth.

He felt it was safer not to ask if they had made the playoffs – after all, he knew that had it been the case, he would have heard about it _everywhere_ in town already. But Paz somehow read his mind.

“Didn’t make the playoffs this year, but we will one day.”

“Great,” Din replied, unsure of what else he could say on the subject.

“So what are you doing in Nevarro?” he asked brusquely, taking a long sip of his beverage. In the few seconds it took Din to formulate an answer, Paz was already back on the attack.

“I…”

“Are you on the run with your kid or something? Looking for a place to hide?”

Din’s breath stuttered to a stop as this hit a little too close to home for comfort and he just stared at Paz, in the hope that like in the old days, he’d know with just a look that he had gone too far. But it didn’t seem to work anymore.

“Are you AWOL?”

“No!” he denied, unable to mask his annoyance this time or realize that it meant Paz also knew a little bit about who he’d become. “I retired from the army.”

“Then why behave so secretly around town?” Paz pushed, and it was Din’s turn to shrug, because he couldn’t really explain it. Or he could, and didn’t want to talk about it, least of all to Paz. But the look he gave him spoke volumes – Paz had a pretty good idea already.

“How’s the retired pay?” he asked, more conciliatory.

“After twenty years, not that bad,” Din conceded.

“That’s a long time.”

“Yeah.”

Two decades. That was a _fucking_ eternity. And the weight of the years hung heavily between them. The regrets and the anger and the godawful pain.

“What made you decide to leave? Your family?” he asked, eyeing the kid.

“Yes and no, and it’s just me and Hadi,” he replied, feeling like now wasn’t the right time to have this particular talk.

Paz raised his eyebrows in clear wonder. “You ditched the mom?”

“I didn’t _ditch_ the mom…” Din groaned.

“Oh, I’m sorry then – ” Paz tried, a little chastened.

“It’s fine,” he interrupted, not wanting to elaborate on that matter. Let Paz assume the worse for now if he wanted. “As for the army, I guess twenty years was enough. It took a lot out of me with little in return, although it wasn’t always like that.”

Din wasn’t sure he’d been able to voice it so well until then. He wondered if it should be attributed to Paz’s mere presence or his wish to be understood. This whole conversation had him on the back foot, and he didn’t like it. Their friendship had always centered around brutal honesty. It wouldn’t have survived otherwise as they were too different. And maybe the last two decades hadn’t completely changed that.

“I can understand that,” said Paz more quietly still, looking down at his empty cup. “But why come back here at all? With the way you left twenty years ago, I expected you’d never set foot here again. Not in a million years. So what made you change your mind?”

Din observed Hadi, who’d bundled up around his coat, his face pressed to the soft fleece collar. Paz had been right the first time. He didn’t need to hide from anyone, and yet he had more or less run away from the only somewhat stable life he knew in El Paso. He’d brought the boy here for a reason, but he wasn’t quite ready to say it out loud yet, or even admit it to himself in so many words.

“I just needed somewhere quiet to figure out what we’re gonna do. Here was as good a place as any on our way to the west coast.”

“That’s where you’re going? The west coast?”

“I haven’t decided yet but yeah, could be a possibility.”

“Right,” Paz replied, suddenly distant again. “Well, better go, early start tomorrow with practice. See you around, I guess,” he said before standing up, his last sentence clearly meant to be understood with a question mark at the end.

Din wondered what had made him pull back – they’d almost been cordial by the end and he thought they were getting somewhere. He had shared more than he expected and now felt a little bereft and self-conscious at Paz’s sudden departure.

“Bye,” he mumbled back, frowning.

The memory of their strange conversation kept bothering him for the rest of the day, as well as late into the night. He wondered how differently he should have handled it, and what had made Paz leave so suddenly. To no one’s surprise, he bitterly regretted not having slept more when Hadi woke up bright and early a little before six. But his first word upon picking him up from his crib, meant just for him, soon made everything better and he forgot about the previous day’s encounter.

They had a quiet breakfast downstairs and ventured in the backyard once the sun was up. Peli hadn’t returned yet from delivering her goods to Sorgan, so he knew they would have the place to themselves without risking bothering her. They had both bundled up but it was still bitterly cold – maybe snow would come early this year, he mused. And he remembered distantly how it used to fascinate him as a kid. When the air had that kind of electricity in it and you just _knew_ it would start snowing soon, with the promise of a warm house and comforting food waiting for him at home after school.

Din did his best to prevent the wave of nostalgia from crashing over him and forced himself to focus on Hadi instead. He was dragging his feet in the piles of dead leaves that had gathered everywhere, enjoying the crunchy noises they made under his shoes with regular giggles. Peli’s mutt soon joined them, a deflated soccer ball gripped in his jaws and a hopeful look in his eyes. Din guessed that was his way of requesting to play, and since Hadi looked occupied enough – he’d only had to stop him once when he tried to put a dead leaf in his mouth – he took it upon himself to humor the dog and play catch with him.

That turned out to be more exercise than he had expected, as Pit also enjoyed him kicking the ball around with him, and Din was soon too hot in his jacket. Keeping an eye on Hadi, who’d plonked down and observed them from a pile of leaves, he decided to make the most of the moment. His smartwatch kept on pestering him to exercise more, after all. And he _craved_ going for a run. Running after an enthusiastic pup would have to do, he guessed.

“Hey! Are you done bothering my dog?” yelled Peli from her deck.

Din turned around swiftly in her direction, jacket divested, sweat rolling down his back, but saw that she didn’t mean it. He also noticed that the sun had started to rise quite a bit from the horizon, which explained why Hadi had approached him and was now clinging to his knees.

“Baba!” he said, his tone easy to read – _food, now_.

Feeling invigorated, he picked up the boy and threw him in the air before safely catching him, earning himself a delighted squeal.

“Looks like your dog needed it,” Din noted as he walked back towards his rented house. Said dog was now half dunking his head in his water bowl, swallowing big mouthfuls sloppily.

“If you’re so eager to be put to use, why don’t you rake those leaves before it starts snowing? Shouldn’t be for at least a couple of weeks, so you have time.”

Din stared at the backyard – the place was huge, and there were leaves everywhere.

“Alright,” he still replied immediately, glad to have found a way to exert himself – it would be easy to keep an eye on Hadi and it did them both good to spend time outside. She told him where to find what he needed and he nodded before mentioning Hadi needed to be fed, and soon, given how tightly he was now gripping his hair from his spot atop his shoulders.

“Get yourself to Sorgan, Omera is starting to worry that you haven’t shown up yet this morning,” she said to his retreating back.

“She’s what?” he asked, stopping in his tracks and twisting his head towards her.

“You heard me, don’t make me say it twice,” she grumbled, her tone half serious, as she went back inside her own house.

Hadi was prompt to interrupt his reverie with insistent hair pulling.

“Alright _habibi_ , we’re going.”

But first, maybe a shower.

They made it to Sorgan just in time for lunch, which meant that the place was busy. Their booth was occupied by four loud women who clearly didn’t look to be on their way out anytime soon, so Omera suggested they sat at the counter instead with an apologetic smile. At least they were the only ones there and Hadi, with the help of a booster seat, seemed happy with his new vantage point. They had soup – roasted butternut squash – and a slice of cheesecake for desert.

“Do you want your espresso?” Omera asked him in a rush between two orders when she saw they were done with their food.

“Later, when it’s quieter. Then we can have one together,” Din said casually, which seemed to startle her just as much as him when he realized how his words could be interpreted, but she recovered faster and arched an elegant eyebrow.

“Great, it’s a date then,” she replied smoothly, turning back towards her waiting customers while he tried to convince himself he hadn’t been too forward.

“Baba,” said Hadi with a giggle, and he could have sworn his tone was slightly mocking. He sighed, and got his coloring book out of his backpack.

While the boy was busy coloring a cow in purple, he grumbled his way through erasing all his declined calls on his cell. Greef Karga was proving insistent, but he’d eased off for the past couple of days. Din had no wish to speak to him, as he had said everything he needed to say already via the proper channels when he retired. Hopefully, the silent treatment would eventually work, even if he had his doubts. His former superior usually managed to have his ways.

It took a while for the place to settle into its usual afternoon rhythm, but Din breathed a sigh of relief when the four obnoxiously loud women departed. He also didn’t miss Omera’s forced smile when she wished them a nice day on their way out. It was reassuring to see that even she had a snapping point, and that there was a limit to her somehow innate kindheartedness.

Despite the women’s departure, Din decided to stay where he was for now, as he didn’t mind the proximity with the espresso machine – or the person working at it.

“Where were you this morning?” she asked after she had placed their cups on the counter, leaning her elbows against it. Din didn’t think they had been so close before, as he would have definitely noticed the amber flecks in her eyes otherwise.

“We played in the backyard for a while,” he explained, but didn’t admit the fact that he’d been the one doing most of the playing with Peli’s dog while Hadi watched from a pile of dead leaves.

“I thought something had happened after your talk with Paz yesterday, it seemed pretty intense,” she noted, and Din remembered that Winta had been in the next booth. It _had_ been a bit intense, but he hoped he hadn’t revealed anything too dire during their conversation. Because it wasn’t meant for kids’ ears probably. But more than that, and he could start admitting it to himself, he didn’t want Omera to have a bad opinion of him, although it was probably a bit late.

“There’s history between me in Paz,” he confessed, although that wasn’t saying much.

“I mean I knew he hadn’t kidnapped you or anything this drastic, he is a teddy bear really.”

Din had made the mistake of taking a sip of his espresso as she was saying those words, and swallowed his coffee too fast to prevent it from coming out again. The sudden pain almost brought tears to his eyes.

“Did you just burn yourself very badly?” asked Omera, hiding a smirk.

“No,” he mumbled.

“Do you want ice chips?”

Din sighed, but Hadi perked up at the mention so she turned the ice machine on and he conceded that she had clearly won that round of whatever game they were currently playing.

Hadi requested some stories after he was done with the ice chips, and they relocated to the vacated booth to be more comfortable. They spent the beginning of the afternoon quietly, and Din expected they’d probably stay put for a while as it had started to rain outside but once again, it seemed that his expectations would be thwarted by none other than Omera’s so called teddy bear.

“So you are _genuinely_ spending all your time here then?” a slightly dripping Paz asked, the ever present Mandalorian baseball cap firmly set on his head.

“What’s up?” he exhaled, hoping they weren’t about to have a repeat of the previous day.

“I’m kidnapping you. Well, the two of you,” he amended, eyeing Hadi, who was looking up at the tall man in clear wonder.

“You’re what?” he asked, remembering Omera’s joke.

“Taking you with me to practice, you gotta come see the team play, come on,” he urged, already turning his back on them and expecting they’d follow. Which they did, because Paz was Paz and Din was curious.

Din followed his friend’s car in his Jeep, although he knew the way well. The rain had thankfully stopped, but he imagined that the field would still be wonderfully damp and probably muddy to boot. _This_ he definitely didn’t miss from his football days. That or the cold and wet bleachers he now sat on. Despite all this, Hadi, sitting on his knees, was captivated.

Paz left them on their own while he went to talk with his staff, and Din wondered why he had such fond memories of that time. Those kids were put through the wringer – running, falling, pushing, tackling, sprinting, throwing… on and on and on. With the most ridiculously uncomfortable kit ever known to man. And yet, seeing them get trampled to the ground then get back up again, time after time, he envied them.

 _What the hell was wrong with him_?

“I’m done with my part for now,” said Paz, rejoining them. “I do my yelling for the morning practice, now it’s his turn,” he explained, gesturing towards his assistant.

Din, who had definitely heard Paz’s booming voice a couple of minutes earlier complaining about a kid not moving his legs fast enough simply nodded.

“I know, it’s a bit overkill – last game of the season and all, that won’t change our standing, but they still want to give it their best,” he continued, and Din remembered how proud he’d been to wear that jersey, even if they had only reached the playoff once in the three years he’d been in the team – it didn’t matter in the end. It wasn’t what was important.

Din looked around – the place hadn’t changed that much, but contrary to everything else in Nevarro since his return, it looked bigger instead of smaller. Was his memory playing a trick on him?

“That section wasn’t there, right?” he asked, pointing towards the other side of the stadium.

“Yeah, they added it about six years ago. Whole new turf, posts and scoreboard two years ago.”

“Nice,” Din replied blandly, but from the way Paz shrugged his shoulders, he could tell he agreed with him, football coach and all – that was _too much_ for a small town like Nevarro, and the money could and should have been used elsewhere.

Hadi was still keeping an attentive look at the action, but kept burrowing against him for warmth. Despite his blue puffer jacket and hood, the little tyke was getting cold. Din improvised and unzipped his own jacket to press him close against his chest, before zipping his coat partway up again.

“So, a kid then?” asked Paz, who had observed them silently.

“Hadi,” Din replied as the boy cooed in contentment, pleased with his new cozy spot that still allowed him to watch the practice.

“How is it?”

“How is what?”

“Parenthood, I guess.”

“Ask me again when he’s 18,” Din grumbled half seriously and his old friend sniggered.

“Doesn’t mean he won’t still be a handful,” he remarked.

“True,” Din agreed, remembering the kind of kid he had been at 18 a little too well for comfort, and Paz seemed to have reached the same conclusion as they remained silent for a while, observing the players going through various exhausting drills.

“How’s coaching?” Din eventually asked, mirroring Paz’s earlier question.

“Wasn’t what I had in mind at the start, but it turned out better than I thought in the end.”

“You were all set to become the next NFL MVP when you left for CU Boulder to play for the Buffaloes, what happened?” he wondered, seeing no reason to beat around the bush anymore.

“Yeah, that’s what everybody thought,” Paz replied, but there was no bitterness in his tone, just plain truth. “It didn’t turn out that way, though.”

Din could still remember how years after he had left Nevarro he would still try to keep track of the NFL Draft to see if the name Vizsla would be included. And any time they’d catch a game, in whatever base he was stationed at, even overseas, he wondered if he would recognize his unmissable silhouette. Partly because he thought he deserved it, as he’d been an incredible football player. And partly because he was looking for an excuse to reconnect, he realized. A reason to reach out.

“No?” he pressed, as Paz had remained silent.

“NCAA college football man, that’s a different _universe_ compared to the Mandalorians. I’m not saying it was all bad, and I learned a lot… But let’s be honest, there were so many great players over there, I spent a lot of time on the bench. And then I busted my knee and it made me realize it wasn’t the life I wanted anymore, I guess. And there was no way I would have been able to keep up academically over there, I wasn’t smart like you.”

Din sighed but said nothing. It had been a recurrent issue between them in their youths – Paz playing the card that he wasn’t bright enough when it was clearly false.

“So what did you do?” he asked instead.

“I knew I still wanted to include football in some way, and spending so much time on the bench made me appreciate how crucial a coach was. I certainly hadn’t learned that from coach Fett, he was a fucking joke.”

“That and the fact that you were _never_ on the bench,” Din reminded him.

“Yeah,” he remembered fondly, “true enough.”

Din checked that Hadi was still awake in his warm cocoon, and he seemed happy enough, his wide dark eyes trying to keep up with all the balls that were thrown. He seemed unfazed by the loud yells and whistle blasts.

“It was a slow process but I got there,” Paz continued. “Transferred to a smaller university, got my degree and certificate, worked as a gym teacher only at first in various places… But my plan was always to come back here and coach the Mandalorians, I knew that.”

“How long have you been back?”

“I’ve been coaching the team for six years, but I never really left Nevarro. I spent plenty of time here to see my pap,” Paz explained.

“Is he…”

“No, he died some years ago,” he said.

“I’m sorry,” Din said with feeling, and his friend nodded. Paz’s grandfather had pretty much raised him, and he knew how much the man had meant to him.

Somehow sensing the gloom settling over them, Hadi started being a little more vocal and seemed impatient to get closer to the action on the field now that he was warm again. Din freed him from his jacket and he immediately turned towards Paz, intrigued.

“I think he wants to meet you,” Din surmised and instead of looking apprehensive, the big man looked thrilled at the prospect.

“Well, give him to me then,” he requested, holding out his arms. Cautiously, he handed the boy to his friend, who held him by his sides to observe him closely. Hadi looked ridiculously small in his hands, and Din had to stop himself from asking him to give him back. Their staring contest lasted a while, and he was sure the toddler would start to fret soon enough, but very much like the football practice earlier, he seemed captivated.

“He’s cute,” Paz said, his tone strangely reproachful.

“Thanks?” Din replied, frowning.

“Takes after his mom, then,” he concluded, and Din sighed, refusing to go there. “Well, let’s go meet the team, kid,” Paz decided, and in one movement he stood up and had the boy sitting on his shoulders.

“Paz, w- ” but he was already walking towards the field, and Hadi squealed in delight at his new towering vantage point.

Din sighed again and decided to stay put. As the minutes dragged by, he became certain of two things: first, contrary to what he had expected, the boy was absolutely thrilled at all the attention he was getting from Paz, the staff, and the various players. And second, instead of freezing his ass off on those fucking bleachers, he could have been enjoying a warm coffee in Sorgan right about now. And spending time with Omera.

When Paz finally handed Hadi back to him, the boy looked on the verge of sleep. So there was that, at least. But he was gripping a football in both his hands so tightly he didn’t think he’d be able to remove it from his grasp before bed.

“He can keep it,” Paz announced, clearly pleased with himself.

“Thanks,” he mumbled back, and he dearly hoped the kid’s next word wouldn’t be _football_.


	6. How to get a lawyer and a coffee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the love! Your kudos and comments make my day, always. :)

“What about this one, Hadi? Yes or no?” Winta asked, handing him another sticker.

The little one looked at the snowman her daughter held closely, and frowned, emitting a small noise of disagreement. Omera was pretty sure he’d soon be able to say the word.

“They say ‘no’ much sooner than they say ‘yes’, right?” asked Din, reading her thoughts, and she nodded.

“Sorry,” she added, because she remembered quite well when Winta seemed to only have that one word of vocabulary. Din sighed theatrically as he sipped his hot chocolate. It was a little after six and she’d just closed Sorgan. She still had some cleaning up to do but she was taking a break for now. The first time they had stayed behind after closing time had been an accident but now it had almost become a habit. Winta would finish her homework then run upstairs to find a new toy or book to show Hadi, and they would play quietly until either the boy tired and let it be known, or his father decided it was time to go home.

“You’re right, the Christmas tree would be a better fit there,” Winta agreed, and she placed the sticker on the designated spot, Hadi making sure it was perfectly smooth with his small hand afterwards. She tore her eyes away from the cute spectacle they made in the next booth, and refocused on Din instead, but he’d been equally captivated.

“Please don’t hesitate to kick us out of here at any point, I don’t want us to overstay our welcome,” he insisted for the fourth or fifth time in so many days, and Omera gave him the same answer as usual.

“It’s fine,” she assured him. “And thanks again for helping Winta with her homework, she wasn’t supposed to ask you.”

Din shrugged, and his gaze settled on the children again. His laptop was still open in front of him, but he’d made no attempt to look at it since she came to sit with him. Throughout the afternoon, she thought she’d seen him pester at the screen a lot, and wondered what he’d been researching.

“Any news from Paz?” she asked instead and he turned towards her again.

“He dropped by absurdly early yesterday, supposedly to check that I hadn’t lied about where I was staying or hadn’t left or something.”

Omera drank some hot chocolate to hide her smirk.

“I thought he’d want to enjoy the fact that he no longer had to get up early for morning practice now that the season is over, but I guess I was wrong. He just wanted to chat and see Hadi before he was due at school, really,” he continued.

“So your boy made a good impression on him, then?”

“You could say that,” he snorted. “And Hadi was clearly glad to see him despite the hour.”

She could very well picture Din as not being a morning person – after all, up until recently he’d shown up just as she was opening Sorgan before his first coffee, and he was a sorry sight indeed.

“He usually drops by more often during winter,” she noted.

“Let me guess, he orders the most ridiculously sweet drinks imaginable.”

“How do you know?” she exclaimed, taken aback, as it had really surprised her when it became a habit with him. She’d not expected someone looking like him to ask for beverages she had mostly intended for kids.

“I know Paz, so tell me, what does he order?” he asked, eager to be proven right, eyes full of mischief.

“As his barista, that’s confidential information, you will have to ask him,” she deadpanned, and he groaned. He glanced at his computer screen then quickly back at her, more serious.

“We should get out of your hair soon, I let myself be distracted too much today and I need to work on something this evening.”

“Work on what?” she couldn’t help but press, then regretted her words when she saw him start to fidget – they’d grown a bit closer, yes, but they were still mostly strangers to each other, and she could tell she might have overstepped her bounds. Din sighed and ran his hands through his hair, messing it up some more.

“Is it about Hadi?” she guessed, lowering her voice. The boy was the only subject that seemed to actually worry him. “Is everything okay?”

Din straightened his back, glimpsed at his son who was still happily playing with stickers, then looked at her. _Really_ looked at her, which wasn’t something he did often, his brown eyes inscrutable in their depths. Omera sat very still, accepting the challenge for it was. He was making an important decision. One that had profound ramifications she couldn’t begin to understand yet and had little to do with whatever it was that he was keeping to himself at the moment.

“I’m having trouble getting his adoption papers recognized here,” he finally admitted, keeping his tone low and his eyes glued to the table. “They were all vetted and everything when we arrived in the States, and they are valid from a legal standpoint back where Hadi was born but…his country is in a middle of a terrible conflict and it has no official political standing. Anytime I try to reach out to someone in the State Department…” he stopped there and exhaled, finally looking up at her.

“From the little I know of it, the legal framework for international adoption is a nightmare, I’m sorry, it must be so stressful for you,” Omera said, not having realized that the situation would be so complicated for them.

“The little you know of it?” he repeated, frowning.

“I used to be a paralegal,” she shrugged – there was no point trying to hide that fact, and it wasn’t supposed to be a secret. “We didn’t have much to do with it where I worked, but one of the lawyers at the firm worked human rights cases and I did research for her. I think she could be useful to you, actually,” she realized as she was saying it.

“I don’t want to…”

“It’s fine,” she said, knowing he would want to refuse. “She’s still a friend, a good friend, even if we haven’t seen each other for a while. I could call her? I’m sure she’d agree to see you, but she’s in Albuquerque.”

Din opened his mouth but no sound came out. “I don’t know what to say,” he eventually settled on. “If you think that would help…”

“I’m pretty sure only an attorney would be able to get the State Department to do something, you can’t handle this on your own,” she continued, then realized how her last words could be interpreted when he smiled mirthlessly.

“I didn’t mean…”

“It’s fine,” Din interrupted her this time. “I know that’s not what you meant,” he added, but his eyes, so open and hopeful before, had turned a little wary.

“Look what Hadi made!” Winta proclaimed, joining them at their table and stopping Omera from trying to make up for her blunder.

“It’s beautiful!” intoned Din, glad for the interruption, looking at all the stickers now adorning an old Christmas drawing Winta had found in her room.

“Baba!” said Hadi who’d followed Winta to their booth and was now raising his arms in a familiar gesture. Din sat him on his knees so that they could admire the art piece together and he pressed a quick kiss against his curly hair before reaching for the boy’s coat next to him.

“Thank you for playing with him, Winta,” he told the girl warmly, and she nodded. “We really should get going now, I’m sure he’s hungry and you probably are too.”

“Why don’t you take your things upstairs, I need to finish down here and then we can eat soon,” suggested Omera. Her daughter groaned but did as she was told, waving goodbye to Hadi, who raised his hand, trying to copy her and mostly succeeding.

Omera gathered her thoughts quickly as Din was collecting his own things at remarkable speed, clearly intending to get as far away from the conversation they’d just had as possible. He could be stubborn, but then so could she.

“I’ll call my friend tonight,” she said resolutely.

“Your friend?”

“My friend the lawyer in Albuquerque. When can I say you can drive down there?”

“Anytime,” he replied nonplused, obviously thinking it wouldn’t be sometime soon. But Omera was confident she could have Fennec on his case in a matter of minutes. And then she’d show that pigheaded man that when she said she would help, she did. And maybe he wouldn’t hold the clumsy words she hadn’t meant against her for long. He wouldn’t regret trusting her with this, she was certain of it.

“I’ll tell you how it went tomorrow, then. For lunch?” she asked, as it was the usual time they showed up lately.

“Okay,” he said, having finished zipping up both his jacket and Hadi’s. “Thank you,” he added, and the wariness from before was no longer visible in his gaze. Now he only seemed slightly skeptical.

She wished him goodnight as they stood up and couldn’t resist kissing Hadi’s round cheek, the only part of him that was still visible with the hood over his head. That didn’t assuage Din’s doubts in the slightest – on the contrary, he looked even more puzzled as he made his way out, and Omera had the distinct impression that he strangely wouldn’t have minded a kiss of his own.

* * *

“Fennec can see you tomorrow afternoon,” she told him in lieu of greeting the next day.

“Fennec?” he repeated as he sat Hadi next to him at the counter, the place almost full because of lunch hour.

“Fennec Shand, my friend the lawyer in Albuquerque,” Omera specified, forgetting she hadn’t mentioned her name the day before.

“Interesting name,” he noted as he observed her juggling several orders at once.

“Trust me, you won’t be making fun of her name when you meet her, she can be a bit scary, but she is great at her job.”

“Oh, good then,” Din deflated slightly, realizing that there was no backing down now.

“Is it gonna be okay with Hadi?” Albuquerque was four hours away after all.

“It’s okay, I’ll drive there in the morning and if it gets too late we’ll stay at a motel or something, but I’d rather drive home the same day if I can.”

Omera wisely didn’t point out that he now referred to Nevarro as home and refocused on the drinks she was preparing. She wished the place was quieter so they could talk more, but they’d be able to do that once the rush passed.

“She’ll meet you at the café in front of the court house, does your car have a GPS so that I can give you the address?” she asked him doubtfully a little later as she handed them their food – she had seen his car, after all.

“No, but my phone does,” he replied a bit tersely, clearly hurt that she would find anything bad to say about his old Jeep.

“They make the most wonderful stroopwafels over there, be sure to get some for you and Hadi,” she added, changing the subject.

“What are those?”

“It’s a kind of wafer cookie filled with caramel, trust me, they are very good. I used to eat so many of them back when I was living there…” Omera recalled fondly. “Peli is refusing to try her hand at them, but I’ll convince her one day,” she vowed.

She wished she could tell him more about Fennec and her life in Albuquerque, but other patrons were waiting for their orders. They shared their usual espresso later, but Din was mostly silent, and spent the rest of the afternoon glued to Hadi. He seemed nervous, she realized, and she wished she knew him well enough to figure out the right words to tell him to make him feel better.

Fennec had been intrigued by his plight the previous day on the phone, although Omera hadn’t been able to give her friend the details she wanted about the adoption process, or even the country where Hadi was from. She’d agreed to advise him in any case, and Omera knew it wasn’t _just_ because they used to work together and had remained close or _just_ because it was her job – despite telling her point blank several times she had no reason to feel guilty whatsoever, Fennec still blamed herself for what had happened to her husband. That had been almost six years ago, surely she’d soon realize there was nothing she could have done to prevent his untimely death.

Din left earlier than usual, and Winta grumbled at not being able to play with Hadi for long, but he pretexted they had a big day tomorrow, which was true enough. Preferring not to say anything over saying the wrong words, she simply wished him luck, and he nodded tensely at her, his boy securely held against his chest as he exited Sorgan.

Omera was distracted by work the next day, but any time she had a few minutes to herself, her mind would wander over to Din and his son. She wondered if they had arrived in Albuquerque safely. If they had managed to find the café alright. If Fennec had been on time to meet them. But most of all, if they were okay. And if Din had stopped being so anxious.

Just as she was finishing cleaning up the place a little before 7PM, the coffee shop’s landline rang. She had kept it despite almost never using it and she now frowned at the receiver.

“Hello?” she said cautiously, ready to add that they were closed at this hour before she recognized the voice at the other end.

“Hi, it’s Din, I’m not bothering you?”

“No, of course not,” she quickly replied.

“I figured you might still be around, but I wasn’t sure that number would work, I found it online.”

“I keep forgetting there is a webpage for Sorgan…” _And that she hadn’t given him her phone number already._ “How are you? How did it go? Are you on your way back?” she rattled off before she could stop herself.

“It went…well, I think, yeah,” he confirmed. “Your friend was very patient with me and she seems to think it will be fine. That I should just accept that it’s going to take time to have everything made official but that, you know…” Din sighed, frustrated at not finding the right words, and Omera realized with a start what had been worrying him all this time: _he thought Hadi would be taken away from him_.

“Of course it’s going to be fine!” she told him in the most reassuring tone she could manage. “Nothing bad is going to happen. It’s just bureaucracy, and it’s maddening, but it’s temporary.”

“Yeah,” he mumbled, not quite believing her just yet. “Thank you for setting this up in the first place, it was really helpful.”

“You’re welcome,” Omera replied, meaning it. “Are you staying for the night?” she wondered, as it was already late.

“No, we’re seeing Fennec again, we only talked for about an hour at the café and she had actual clients to see after me, but she suggested dinner before we headed back to talk some more.”

 _Oh_.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, she mentioned that pizzeria you used to go to, I’m sure Hadi will be thrilled to try that.”

“Yes, I’m sure,” she replied automatically as hundreds of thoughts rushed to her mind at the same time. This was just a ‘business’ dinner, right? Fennec wouldn’t… But then it wasn’t like she had told her on the phone that they were… And they weren’t so where was the harm? And he was with his son anyway it wasn’t like… Though maybe he had liked her too, Fennec certainly was…

“Omera?”

“What?” she said, realizing that she hadn’t been paying attention to what he was saying.

“Just said we needed to get going but that I’d see you tomorrow? Thanks again for everything and…”

“Do you have pen?” she interrupted him, refocusing quickly, and gave him her phone number before they hung up. She tried to convince herself that she would have given him her number _anyway_. Although maybe Fennec had pushed her hand. Slightly.

After being distracted most of the day wondering how Din was faring, Omera was now distracted most of the evening for a different reason. She kept trying to convince herself that Fennec taking Din – and Hadi, she needed to focus on the fact that Hadi was there too – to the pizzeria they used to go to with her husband and whoever Fennec was into at that particular time (they never lasted long) didn’t mean anything serious.

She started wondering if she should call her once Winta had gone to bed. _Surely_ they were done with their own dinner, Din had a four hour drive! And then she figured she _could_ call him instead, as he had also given her his number. Mad at herself for caring so much and feeling silly for letting her mind wander there in the first place, she settled on watching the most ridiculous thing she could find on TV, in the vain hope that she either grew bored of her own antics or Fennec called.

It turned out to be the latter, but it was past midnight already, and she had been on the verge of calling her herself, incapable of resisting.

“I thought you’d be asleep, I was gonna leave you a message,” said the lawyer.

_As if._

“How did your meeting with Din go?” she asked, refusing to childishly go for the jugular straight away – _how was the pizza?_ And also, she probably wasn’t even supposed to know about that.

“He’s really nice, that Din,” she replied, evading her question completely, and Omera bit back a groan. She thought she heard a chuckle on the other end, but it was hard to say with Fennec, as she was very good at keeping her composure at all times.

“Did you manage to talk about his case at any point?” she queried, the sarcasm heavy in her tone but unavoidable.

“We did,” Fennec replied with a sigh, finally relenting but sad that their banter hadn’t lasted longer. “The poor man had really started to imagine the worse.”

“Yeah,” said Omera sadly, as she had only realized earlier when he’d been on the phone with her how apprehensive the whole situation had made him. She certainly wished she’d been able to see that sooner.

“International adoption is always a bit iffy, and it is particularly difficult when it concerns war-torn countries, but all the paperwork he showed me was good. Single-parent adoption is complicated and pretty rare here in the US, especially for a man. He clearly loves that kid, though.”

“He does,” she heartily agreed, wanting to defend him even if Fennec didn’t seem to be criticizing him.

“I wanted to do a bit more research before I saw him again this evening – no need to be coy, I know he told you and I know where your mind went.”

“And by research you mean you gave it to your paralegal,” Omera said, refusing to take the bait.

“You know me too well.”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“She’s definitely not as thorough as you, though,” Fennec added.

“Flattery will get you nowhere.”

“Well, her research _did_ get somewhere in the end, and I might have an angle to speed up the process with the State Department, so I told your boyfriend I’d look into it and keep him posted, but that he should stop worrying in the meantime, no one is going to take that kid away from him.”

“I fear he is a bit stubborn,” Omera replied, dismissing her taunt once more.

“That he is, you’re well matched for sure.”

“Fennec…” she objected this time.

“Don’t ‘Fennec’ me, he is perfect for you. And clearly too nice for me.”

“Yes, you’re more into assholes, that’s true,” Omera deadpanned, although she wasn’t that far off the mark. Men or women, Fennec just had a particular talent to pick them.

“That’s me,” Fennec readily agreed.

“He’s also much too handsome for you.”

“That I would have managed not to hold against him.”

“I’m sure.”

“And he has a kid, I don’t do kids, no matter how cute. Winta is the only exception.”

“Thank you. And on that subject, she’s been asking about you, when are you coming back here, it’s been a while,” Omera reminded her.

“Why did you have to move to the middle of nowhere?”

“It’s not the middle of nowhere…”

“Omera, before you opened that coffee shop of yours, the first decent cup you could get was 300 miles away. You _are_ in the middle of nowhere.”

“Fine,” she conceded. “But we do have good coffee now, so you have no excuse.”

“I want to,” she said, more serious. “It’s just…”

“…work, I know,” Omera sighed. “Remember to take it easy.”

“I will,” Fennec replied, meaning it. “And I’ll try to come see the two of you soon, tell Winta I miss her too.”

“I’ll keep reminding you until you cave, I’m not above using my daughter to manipulate you.”

“I have to see you before you marry that Djarin guy. I give it six months until you start sending the invitations so I’d better hurry.”

Omera laughed good-humoredly, but managed to steer the conversation to other topics after that. Still, there was no denying the fact that having heard Fennec say she didn’t intend to put the moves on Din was reassuring.

The next day, she expected Din and Hadi to show up late, or not at all, but they actually arrived before the lunch rush, giving her the opportunity to sit down with them for a few minutes.

“When did you return?” she asked, seeing the speed at which he inhaled his first coffee.

“Around 5 this morning, we stopped at one point because Hadi was getting a bit restless in the back,” he grimaced.

“Oh no…” Omera commiserated.

“Yeah, he’s fine for a couple of hours, but any longer than that he starts complaining about having to stay in his seat.”

Hadi was currently devouring a chocolate muffin, the very picture of innocence.

“He looks rested, at least,” she noted.

“He slept fine once we got home, yeah,” Din confirmed, hands fidgeting over the table now that he was done drinking his espresso.

“And you didn’t,” she assumed, and he shrugged. He did look more than a bit rumpled, with wild hair and a creased sweater that looked as though he’d just slept in it – and he probably had.

“Feel free to kick us out if you think we’ll scare off customers.”

“Nonsense, Hadi looks particularly cute today, he can stay.”

“Thanks,” he deadpanned.

“And it’s fine, you’re sitting in the back, no one will see you if you take another nap.”

“I’m gonna try not to, I promise,” he grumbled.

“You used to show up here as I opened, I know what you look like just waking up before your first coffee,” she reminded him, emboldened.

“Before my first coffee, yes. Just waking up, no. Trust me, you don’t want to see that.”

 _I just might_ , thought Omera, then kicked herself internally for letting Fennec’s notions get to her – but really though, she hadn’t needed much of a push if she was honest with herself. And just as she was about to regain control over her silly mind, he had to do something adorable.

“We had one each with Hadi and you were right, they’re really good,” he started, taking something from his backpack. “But when I went back to get more there were only 6 left, so I got them all for you, here,” Din said, handing her carefully wrapped stroopwafels.

“I hope they’re not too crushed,” he told her with a small frown.

“They’re perfect,” she mumbled, quickly grabbing a waffle to stop herself from spouting ridiculous endearments at this ridiculously endearing man. 


	7. How to get a beer in a coffee shop

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit more angst in this chapter (blame the last episode!) but I promise some fluff, too.
> 
> Thank you, as always, for all your lovely comments. :)

Din wondered if he was doing the right thing. But Omera had suggested it and Paz and Peli had both made valid arguments in its favor as well. In the end though, he was pretty sure his misgivings were unfounded, because looking at Hadi now, playing with toy cars at his feet, a new environment with new activities could be just what he needed.

“Ms. Tano is ready to see you now, Mr. Djarin,” said the young woman who had welcomed him to the daycare center 15 minutes earlier.

“Thank you,” he said, grabbing Hadi and entering the door in front of him that now stood a little ajar.

The woman stood up from behind her desk and they shook hands, and her warm smile immediately put him at ease. Din guessed he was an open book and looked nervous because he had a clear sense that she was humoring him, though. There was something about her that inspired trust and respect, something that he had found in mentors in the military, and this more than anything else made him realize he was in the right place.

“Din Djarin, you were in the football team, right?” she asked as soon as they were sitting down, Hadi gravitating towards a pile of toys in a corner that was clearly meant for visiting kids.

“Huh, yes,” he replied, keeping an eye on the boy just in case there was anything wrong, but he seemed happy with the small train set he had found.

“You look different,” she added with a small smile and Din wondered if she meant that in a good way or in a bad way. Her smile widened when she saw his frown, so he guessed it was some kind of compliment.

“So you went to high school here?” he remarked unnecessarily and she nodded.

“A couple of years behind you, I think.” A pause. “Your mother was Maja Djarin?”

“Yes.”

“She was my math teacher for a year, before…” she stopped again, and her hands brushed against the intricately designed white and blue hijab she was wearing. “She inspired a lot of people, me included.”

Din had no idea what to reply to that so he simply continued to observe the boy instead. Why was it that anytime a conversation made him uncomfortable Hadi was not in his arms to distract him and give him an excuse?

“So you’re wondering if your son could have a place here?” she eventually asked after clearing her throat.

“That’s right,” Din replied, straightening up.

“How many days a week did you have in mind?” she continued, all business now, her eyes focused on her computer screen.

“Well, that would depend if it works out I guess.”

“What do you mean?” she wondered, frowning.

“If Hadi fits in with the other kids,” he explained, surprised by her reaction – surely that was a common worry.

“Why wouldn’t he fit in?” Ms. Tano asked, her patient smile making a second appearance.

And there Din knew he had an important decision to make. His first intention had been to play it cool and only mention that Hadi was adopted if he had no choice – after all, she was bound to ask for some official identification at one point, and he hoped she’d be less likely to scrutinize them too closely if she had no idea. But he was supposed to trust this woman with his son’s wellbeing. Lying to her about something so important would set a bad precedent. And she had given him no indication that she wasn’t reliable, on the contrary.

“The truth is, he’s only been my son for three months. Officially, even less than that,” he sighed, and attempted to give her a condensed and edited version of how Hadi had come into his life.

“Let me see how you interact with him,” she said once he was done, her face inscrutable. She still managed to project a deep sense of calmness, though. Maybe it was true what they said, then: confession _was_ good for the soul.

“ _Habibi_ ,” Din started, Hadi immediately turning towards him, recognizing the term of endearment.

“Oh, you still speak Arabic to him?” Ms. Tano beamed, interrupting him as he beckoned the boy closer.

“He’s still a bit more receptive to it, yes,” he confirmed as he picked Hadi up. “And it didn’t feel right to take that away from him. That’s part of who he is.”

“Your mom spoke Arabic with you,” she realized.

“Yes,” he replied simply.

“And now you’re sharing it with him.”

“I guess,” he agreed. “I wasn’t advised to do it, but…”

“No, it’s great,” she quickly chimed in, and proceeded to ask Hadi how he was in the same language. The boy cooed and looked at the woman with newfound interest, but had no word for her.

“His speech is a bit delayed,” he apologized.

“I wouldn’t worry if I were you,” she said, observing how Hadi had now gripped his forefinger and held it tightly in his hand, finding welcome reassurance in the familiar gesture. “He’ll speak when he’s ready to.”

“Baba,” said the boy, somehow agreeing with her as he settled more comfortably against him, and she laughed this time.

“Anything else you want to share with me?” she queried, and there again Din hesitated. Should he mention Hadi’s unexplained though less and less common night terrors? His fear when left on his own for too long in a place he couldn’t escape like his crib? His tears in the car seat when the journey felt interminable? But some of that was just toddler behavior, he was sure. And ever since they’d moved to Peli’s garage and had more room, he could leave him alone for slightly longer periods if he was busying himself with a toy or some food.

So this time, he said nothing, and the woman told him to come back the next day – Hadi would spend some time with the other children while he remained in the background, and they would see how it went. But she seemed quite sure it would all be fine. Apart from his immunization record, which he’d brought with him, at no time did she ask for official documentation. One of the enviable perks of being part of such a small community, he guessed: Hadi was ‘the Djarin boy’, like he’d been back in the day, and that was all people needed to know.

“Thank you, Ms. Tano,” he said as he shook her hand again before departing.

“Ahsoka, please,” she insisted, and there was that smile again. The one he wasn’t sure how to interpret. It was a nice smile though, so he assumed it meant something good.

As he exited the daycare center, a now quite vocal Hadi in his arms requesting, in all likelihood, food, he realized that he hadn’t minded becoming a stay at home dad. And if all went well – and for the boy’s sake, he hoped it did – he’d soon no longer have the excuse of having to look after him all day long. He’d have to finally focus on figuring out what they were going to do, and where they were going to live – a daunting prospect he didn’t relish at all.

Din hadn’t missed Peli’s not so subtle remarks that she hadn’t had any booking for December yet, meaning they could stay another month. And as they were already halfway through November, he’d accepted immediately. It made no sense trying to find a new place or a new job right before the holidays anyway, right? They were fine where they were for now.

“Let’s go to Sorgan for a bite to eat, then,” he said out loud, and Hadi’s coo was definitely one of approval.

* * *

“Hadi, come on, get out of there…” Din sighed, armed with the first round of clean laundry that now needed to be put in the dryer.

“Bah!” the boy said, loudly, enjoying how the sound echoed in the small space. Who knew dryers were such a hit with toddlers? Certainly not him, as he had to carefully move around the boy’s shape to finally be able to put the clothes inside.

Hadi made his disappointment at being separated from his new toy known, and shuffled towards the kitchen before plonking himself down, his diaper cushioning his fall. Din started the second load of laundry in the washing machine using the baby detergent he’d gotten for the two of them – it was a bit more expensive, but Hadi’s skin was so fragile, and he truly wanted what was best for him – then joined the kid in the warmer room.

Peli was out today, meaning they had the place to themselves as the laundry room was situated next to her kitchen and she had left the connecting door open. Something about him being able to grab some food if he needed to. She was nice like that, Peli. And she had also reminded him that Omera would drop by to get the pies, quiches, muffins and cookies needed in Sorgan tomorrow, but that was still hours away as she was supposed to come by sometime after dinner. Which was for the best, as this was laundry day and he’d clearly put it off for as long as he could. Hadi was only wearing a diaper and hat and he was in his old and well-worn sleep boxers.

“It’s nice and toasty in here, isn’t it?” he remarked to the boy. Even when the ovens weren’t working, it was always hot in Peli’s kitchen, which was certainly a welcome fact right now, as their clothes would need to spend a good 45 minutes in the dryer.

Hadi cooed in reply, and stood up to pet a sleepy and tuckered out Pit who was currently trying to nap under the table. But his tail started wagging as soon as he saw the little boy arrive, making a happy _tap, tap_ noise against the tiles.

A nap sounded like a very good idea, Din thought as he rubbed his hands across his face, then winced at the contact.

 _He’d almost forgotten about that_.

The reason behind Peli’s dog exhaustion and the bruise that was probably turning a nice shade of purple on his cheek fit in one word: Paz.

He had showed up right after lunch, which they’d had here since today was Wednesday and Sorgan was closed, surprisingly – and worriedly – aware that Peli wouldn’t be there and that he wouldn’t be taking Hadi to the daycare center for the afternoon. On that last point, he had probably mentioned in passing that it was only two or three afternoons a week, but he hadn’t expected Paz to remember the exact days.

He’d pretexted being bored because he’d finished working for the day, but he’d also brought a few things for Hadi. His gifts were currently being washed in the second load of laundry, as they’d consisted in surprisingly cute outfits for the boy. Din hadn’t thought the man had it in him. Obviously, all the clothes had something to do with sports. But Din knew better than refusing something he was in dire need of, as the kid sometimes needed to be changed 4 times a day. It didn’t matter that the onesies displayed ridiculous messages such as ‘Don’t Fumble Me’ or ‘My First Football Season’. There had also been a cute hat added to the mix, pale green and with interchangeable, colorful pompons – Paz had been pleased to inform him – which Hadi had adopted on the spot and now refused to take off. 

The outfits had predictably been Paz’s segue to suggest throwing a ball around in the vast backyard. Only to play with the dog at first, naturally. But Din should have known. Nothing was as it seemed when it came to Paz. And especially when it came to Paz _and_ football. Which was why he’d soon insisted he wanted to see how far Din could still throw. And he now rubbed his right shoulder at the memory. His tender and inflamed cheek was a direct consequence of his humoring him for a bit too long.

Just as he had been about to suggest an early dinner to Hadi, who had spent the afternoon outside with them and would probably fall asleep in record time, he heard the front door open. Thinking it was Peli showing up earlier than expected, he didn’t panic at first. But when he realized it was Omera, it was too late to do anything – she had seen him and it would be ridiculous to suddenly exit the room.

“Hey,” she said, approaching, looking puzzled but pleased to see him he thought.

“Hi,” he replied, trying to figure out _why_ it would have somehow been fine for Peli to find him wearing nothing but boxers in her own kitchen while Omera’s presence made him want to grab the nearest cushion in the living room.

“I thought you’d show up later,” he justified lamely.

“Clearly,” Omera chuckled, her eyes unashamedly roaming over his figure. “Let me guess – laundry day?”

“Yeah,” he admitted and quickly turned around to at least put the kitchen counter between them, missing Omera openly appreciating his backside. Hadi was still calmly petting the dog, and was therefore no help at all to extract him from this situation.

“So, Batman, then? Do you have a different superhero for each day of the week?”

 _He’d almost forgotten about that as well_.

“No, it’s just the boxers I sleep in,” he mumbled, realizing too late that this didn’t sound any better. “It was a gift. A joke. From friends. They’re old and…” Din stopped again, sighing. He was only making things worse, wasn’t he?

“Comfy?” she suggested, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” he agreed, deflating slightly as she was after all only teasing him. What was it with all those women lately? First Omera, then Fennec and now Ahsoka. And why was he incapable of telling whether they were bantering with him or full on flirting? He really missed the military in moments like these. Even if he would easily admit that out of those three, he really wished Omera wasn’t simply teasing him.

Except right now. Because right now was the worst possible moment.

“Peli said we were allowed to stay here when she was away,” he quickly came up with to change the subject and to prevent any remark later.

“Relax, I won’t tell her you were parading half naked in her kitchen while she was…what happened to you?” she suddenly frowned, raising her hand over the counter separating them to lightly touch his right cheek.

“Oh, it’s nothing, just an accident,” he said, immediately regretting her touch when she pulled away.

“An accident?” she repeated, still looking concerned.

“We were playing football outside earlier, Paz didn’t mean it, he just forgot I wasn’t wearing a helmet when he threw that ball.”

Omera’s expression slowly morphed into mirth, a half-smile tugging at her lips.

“You know it’s a common signal that there is something very wrong when someone uses expressions like ‘it was an accident’ or ‘he didn’t mean it’,” she said, maintaining a serious tone.

“What?” he replied, completely lost.

“You’re basically describing marital abuse.”

A beat.

“Yeah, he’s been hitting me for a long time,” he confirmed, finally catching up. “First time we met, actually.”

“Oh really?”

“A punch in the face two weeks in when I was in 6th grade,” Din added with a laugh.

“I guess not much has changed, then,” Omera noted, and her words carried more meaning than he expected. _Not much had changed indeed._

“Sorry for turning up earlier than planned,” she said after a brief pause. “Winta’s staying for dinner at one of her friend’s, so I decided to have a quiet evening to myself for once before picking her up instead of coming here late.”

“Don’t apologize,” he shrugged. “As you can see, you didn’t interrupt much.”

Hadi chose that moment to make his presence known and wobbled in his direction, yellow pompon swaying on his head. He encircled his knees and looked up towards him with an expression he knew very well – it was almost time for dinner, after all. He picked him up and sat him on the counter. Omera didn’t resist tickling his protruding belly, earning herself a disgruntled giggle.

“Sorry, he’s just too cute,” she said.

“Yeah, he gets that a lot,” he mock complained and turned towards the fridge, where he had kept the lentil and ham soup Peli had kindly provided for him the previous day for Hadi’s dinner.

“Maybe a toasted bagel? Do you want a bagel with your soup, _habibi_?” he turned around to ask the boy who was still sitting on the counter, Omera holding his small hands in hers.

The sight dislodged something deep in his chest. Something that had valiantly tried to hold on until now. Something he immediately decided was not worth regretting because _this_ , whatever _this_ was, was infinitely better. A sudden and almost feral urge to protect them. No matter what.

“Do you want to stay for dinner? Since Winta is at a friend’s and…”

“Sure, why not,” she smiled, her hands still gripping Hadi’s tightly in hers.

“Great,” he beamed, pleased with himself, and checked what was in the fridge that Peli wouldn’t miss or he could easily replace.

“It’s always been one of my dreams to have Bruce Wayne cook my dinner,” she quipped behind his back, and Din suddenly remembered he was still just in boxers. Surely the dryer would be done soon and he’d regain some of his dignity.

* * *

“That bruise is healing nicely.”

“Paz, it’s been four days and I still look like I ran headfirst into a door,” Din replied, rolling his tired shoulders as he exited his friend’s car.

He was dropping him off at Sorgan, as he had walked there with Hadi earlier that day before Paz turned up to lure him away just before closing time. It being a Sunday, the high school was empty and he had been adamant for a while now that he needed to see what the place had become, especially the gym equipment.

Din had many regrets. The first of which forgetting that everything had to be a competition with Paz. Oohing and ahhing at all the money that had been spent on the training facilities hadn’t been enough. No, his old friend decided Din needed to show him what two decades in the army had taught him, and how much he could now bench press. Obviously, he’d gotten better at it than when he was 18, but Paz’s look had been one he remembered awfully well: that was good, but he could do better.

So really, he could only blame himself for the sore muscles he would be sure to feel tomorrow. But the good thing at least was that Hadi hadn’t been with them, as Omera had insisted they could watch him with Winta and feed him dinner if it got too late.

“You’re coming with me?” Din asked, surprised, as Paz followed him to the coffee shop. The curtains were drawn over the windows, but Omera had told him the door would still be open when he returned.

“What, you’re the only one allowed to spend time there, now?” his friend gruffly remarked, pushing the door in. “I wanna say hi to Omera too, you’ve been spending far too much time around her on your own anyway.”

Din sighed and followed the taller man inside, wisely choosing not to say anything. Soon though, his thoughts were interrupted by the noise coming from the back of the café. At first, he didn’t recognize the cries for what they were, as they sounded alien in this environment. But when it finally dawned on him that this was Hadi he was hearing, he rushed in his direction, leaving a dumbfounded Paz behind.

“Shhh, _habibi_ , shh, it’s fine, I’m here,” he automatically said to the small shape which had retreated to the furthest corner of the room, fat tears rolling down his flushed cheeks and gut-wrenching sobs escaping him. He knelt down, paying little mind to what a worried Omera and a positively scared Winta were trying to tell him and kept his voice soft, switching to Arabic.

“Hadi, it’s okay, I promise, you can come out,” he whispered, holding his hand out but not approaching any closer. “I’m sorry I was gone and you were scared, but I’m here now, everything is fine.”

Slowly, very slowly, the calming words got through the child and the volume of his cries lowered. But his tears didn’t abate, and it took several more minutes until Din was sure he knew where he was and what was happening. Only then did the boy toddle in his direction, and Din tried very hard not to crush him to his chest. He continued to murmur reassuring, meaningless words to his ear as he stood up, and the boy’s arms locked around his neck, not letting go.

Finally, Din started paying attention to what was happening around him. Paz had gotten closer, but looked curious rather than stunned, contrary to Winta and Omera, who bore identical expressions of distress. He didn’t know where to start or how to explain what had happened, so instead he decided to walk around the room in slow, careful steps, until he was quite sure Hadi’s tears had stopped and his tight hold around him lessened. He tried to unglue him from his side to check that he was alright, but he immediately protested and clung on tighter so Din stopped, a promise that he wouldn’t do it again escaping his lips.

A few minutes later, he knew the boy had fallen asleep.

“What the fuck was that?” whispered Paz in the deadly silence of the coffee shop, and Din sighed – now was probably the time to tell them everything.

It was a couple hours later and both children were now asleep. Winta had needed as much reassurance as Hadi in the end, and he hadn’t had the heart to abandon her to her guilt once he’d learned what had happened. So he’d sat down with her and her mother at a booth, Paz lingering in the background, and got a better idea of what had triggered Hadi’s tears.

They’d been playing quietly after an early dinner, Winta pretending to be a ghost with an old white sheet to the boy’s clear delight at the time, and everything had been fine until Hadi tried to imitate her, got the sheet over his head, tripped on it as he walked, fell, and couldn’t escape the imprisoning cocoon fast enough and panicked.

Din should have known something like this was bound to happen sooner rather than later, but the child had been doing so well! Daycare was going splendidly and he hadn’t had a night terror in several weeks.

And yet, when he’d chosen not to disclose his issues to Ahsoka, he knew he was making a mistake, and that Hadi would unfortunately somehow pay the price.

He didn’t know what words to use with Winta to explain what had happened, so instead he focused on telling her that it hadn’t been her fault, and that Hadi would be fine. That it was just an accident, and that the toddler simply didn’t like being confined to small places he couldn’t escape, and that was what it had felt like for him when he’d found himself incapable of freeing himself from the sheet.

The young girl was smart, and Din could tell she knew he wasn’t telling the whole truth, but she seemed to accept his explanation, followed by his apology.

“I’m sorry Winta, I should have told you,” he admitted, and this eventually did the trick – and also made him realize that she hadn’t been scared for herself, but for his son.

Hadi had remained dead to the world in his arms while they talked, and Omera had suggested he could rest in Winta’s lower bunk bed. Din relented, as he knew the boy had exhausted himself and it was already late for him, so there was a good chance he would sleep for a while. He could also see how proud it made Winta to be allowed to watch over Hadi, and she promised him she’d rush back downstairs if he so much as peeped.

He carefully placed extra pillows all around him on the mattress, but the child bunk bed was low on the ground and had a wooden safety rail that made it quite secure. Din walked back downstairs to find that Paz hadn’t left, and had even gotten pizzas from the restaurant next door.

“What are those for?” he asked, eyeing the two boxes – even for Paz, that was a big dinner.

“Pizzas, you’re supposed to eat them,” his old friend answered and Din managed not to roll his eyes. “You didn’t think you would escape without giving us an explanation, right?” Paz added.

“Hadi is sleeping upstairs, I wasn’t going to just leave,” Din cut in – this whole thing had also tired him, and he wasn’t looking forward to their conversation.

“Not what I meant and you know it.”

Din glared at him and said nothing. Instead, he sat down across from him, the untouched pizza boxes between them on the table. The tension was thick when Omera came back downstairs.

“They’re both fast asleep, Winta was exhausted,” she said, looking at him.

“I’m sorry,” Din felt compelled to add but she gave him a half-smile in reply that seemed to imply he shouldn’t feel guilty.

“Beer?” she suggested, this time turning towards Paz, and the man nodded. She hadn’t made any comment about the pizzas, and Din wondered if it was something they did regularly. He tried not to let that information unsettle him, and asked for a beer as well.

She brought three bottles and some plates and paper towels back to the table.

“More room in the fridge downstairs for the beer,” she explained as they all clinked their drinks, although the cheer was absent.

“Are you finally going to tell us what happened?” pressed Paz before he’d swallowed his first sip. Din sighed, and took his time downing half his bottle to order his thoughts, refusing to look at either of them for now.

“I should have warned you something like this might happen with Hadi, I’m sorry I didn’t,” he started with, focusing on Omera, in the hope that she would accept this apology.

“It just happened so suddenly,” she recalled, clearly still bothered by the experience. “I closed the shop, they had some leftover quiche for dinner and played together while I was cleaning up and then… Hadi started crying and wouldn’t stop, we tried everything we could think of, but he just wouldn’t let us approach him. It’s like he was…” she had to stop there, trying to find the right word.

“Somewhere else?” Din suggested.

“Yes, exactly that, like he didn’t notice us anymore, it was actually quite frightening. But thankfully you showed up just as I was about to call you.”

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, because he didn’t know what else to say.

“Has anything like this happened at the daycare center?” she wondered.

“No, he’s been doing so good over there, Ahsoka says he loves playing with the other kids, he’s very social.”

He didn’t see Omera bristle at his casual mention of Ms. Tano’s first name but Paz did, and chuckled silently, which was still loud enough for Din to hear him and he looked up in confusion.

“I’ve never seen him behave like that either,” the big man said, schooling his expression quickly.

“He hasn’t for a while, now. This was just…a setback, I’m sure. He’s always fine the next day,” he remarked, playing with the label of his beer bottle to keep his hands from fidgeting on the table.

“A setback from what?” Paz pressed, and Din’s shoulders went slack. No going back, now.

“Omera knows this but you don’t. I’m not sure why I didn’t tell you already, but Hadi is adopted.”

“Adopted?” Paz repeated, tone inscrutable.

“Yeah, I adopted him about three months ago.”

Paz sat very still and stared at him intensely. “That’s why he looks so cute, then,” he uttered lightly and Din shook his head at his antics, downing the rest of his beer to prevent words he didn’t want to say in Omera’s presence from escaping his mouth.

“You were speaking Arabic to him earlier, right?” Paz asked.

“Yeah,” he confirmed.

“I remember your mom speaking the same language with you, using that same word…”

“Right,” he said, straightening up, pleasantly surprised that Paz actually recalled such a detail about their childhood.

“So you were still in the army when you decided to adopt him?” Paz continued, and Din nodded. Omera was very quiet, but then he remembered he hadn’t shared the same information with the two of them, and his military past was probably news to her.

“Yes, my last station was in Hadi’s country, which is in the middle of a civil war. We were mostly there for humanitarian support but it was still…hard not to do anything when faced with the reality of what was happening,” he started to say then had to stop.

“I’ll get more beer,” announced Omera as the silence had stretched for longer than was comfortable.

“How did you find Hadi?” she was the one to ask when she rejoined them with three fresh bottles, her tone kinder that Paz’s though it was clear she also wanted to know more.

Although he was not hungry, Din bought himself some time to think by grabbing a slice of pizza, forcing the other two to copy him.

“His orphanage was bombed,” he finally revealed. "We got to the scene after the fact. Again, for support. Infrastructures are a mess over there and we did what we could. I felt like I needed to help more. I trained as a medic first and I just couldn’t…”

Din remembered the scene too well. How hopeless it all felt. The rubbles. The despair. Then the tiny voice calling out in the middle of all that noise, as if the boy had waited for him to show up to let his presence known. As if he’d somehow chosen _him_.

It was more difficult to find the right words after that, but he tried. Rescuing Hadi and finding him covered in dust and blood. Panicking as he was taking him to the temporary field hospital they had set up only to realize once they were there that the blood wasn’t his and that he was physically fine. Coming back day after day to check on the boy and the other victims and doing what he could to help although that wasn’t supposed to be his role anymore. And the baby would cling to him and cry when he departed. Trying and failing to let him go. Realizing that any future he would have would be a very bleak one indeed. His sudden decision to adopt him and putting an end to a career that had started to make less and less sense to him.

“So you basically kidnapped him,” Paz blurted out once he was done.

“I didn’t _kidnap_ him,” Din snapped, annoyed that this would be the only thing Paz would take from what had been a painful recollection for him.

“How long had he been in that orphanage for, do you know?” asked Omera, who had stopped eating while he talked, and had now clearly lost her appetite.

“There were thankfully many survivors, and I managed to have a word with some of the people who had been working there. That’s also how I learned his name. He’d apparently been there for a while, his parents died in another raid.”

“And so him being scared about not being able to escape stems from that? Being stuck in the rubbles, most likely twice since he was a baby?”

“I think so, and a child psychologist I consulted shortly after we arrived in the US confirmed it. She said I could expect strange behaviors from him, but they should fade with age. I certainly hope so. Sometimes he has night terrors. And he’s also not great at playing hide and seek and hates noisy toys. But that’s about it.”

Now that he had started talking about it, he didn’t see why he shouldn’t mention everything. Omera looked as though she wanted to grab his hand over the table, then changed her mind and seized her beer instead at the last moment. Din tried not to read anything in the almost gesture and refocused on Paz, who’d been weirdly silent for a few minutes. Surely that was explanation enough and he was off the hook.

“What?” he pressed when he couldn’t handle it anymore – he knew his friend wanted to say something.

“You’re not gonna like it,” Paz warned gruffly.

That was new, him not saying exactly what he felt. And worrying, because it probably meant he wouldn’t like it _at all_.

“Say it anyway, I’ve already heard everything, trust me.”

And he had. Karga being a prime example. And he’d rather they cleared the air now than let it fester. That was how they had always functioned – brutal honestly.

“Leaving the army, that’s one thing. Frankly, two decades, that’s heroic bordering on insane. But adopting a kid… Isn’t that a bit selfish? Are you helping this kid or were you just feeling bad about what you couldn’t do over there as a soldier?”

“Paz!” Omera objected, but Din quickly shook his head to signal it was fine. He’d heard that one already. Plenty of times.

“You really think Hadi would have had a chance at any life over there?” he asked.

“Well, now we’ll never know, that’s for sure.”

Din knew exactly what Paz was doing, playing devil’s advocate. And he had expected nothing less from him. But he just wanted to be done with this conversation already. He was tired, and he wanted to go home with Hadi and regroup.

“You ever step foot in an orphanage filled with kids who’ve lost their parents in a pointless conflict before?” he remarked, bitterly.

“So that’s your solution, then? Adopting all of them?”

“I’m not adopting all of them, I’m adopting _one_ of them, Hadi,” he huffed, his hackles rising despite his resolve not to let Paz’s words affect him.

“What if he grows up to resent you for plucking him out from his country? From his culture?”

“He won’t,” Din replied, resolute, not realizing that he’d painted himself into a corner yet.

“How would you know?”

“Because I didn’t,” he uttered and immediately kicked himself.

“What?”

Din sighed and raised his hands to his hair, scratching his scalp angrily. What was one more revelation? Surely he’d been meant to own up to that one sooner rather than later.

“Din, what are you saying?” pressed Paz, who almost never used his name.

“I was adopted,” he muttered blandly.

“Alec and Maja were not your parents?”

“Not my biological parents, no. They adopted me when I was four.”

“I had no idea...” Paz replied, stunned – which was saying a lot for someone like him.

“We didn’t advertise it. It was nobody’s business. But it was never a problem for me,” he revealed, preferring to keep some of what he’d been through to himself, especially regarding that last part.

This time Omera’s hand didn’t hesitate, and he felt the warmth of her skin through his sleeve where her palm rested on his forearm. Solid. Unmoving. He’d been so focused on Paz he’d almost forgotten she was there. But her presence was very welcome at the moment and the warmth he saw in her eyes allowed him to continue. One of the reasons he never talked about his adoption was because he didn’t want anyone’s pity. He hated pity. But he didn’t find any in her expression. Or in Paz’s.

“My own situation wasn’t so different from Hadi’s. I also lost my family in a war. And when I arrived in the US I didn’t speak a word of English. Maja and Alec, my parents, I owe them everything.”

“Four years old, you weren’t as young as Hadi, do you have any memory from that life?” asked Omera, her hand still reassuringly though unobtrusively there.

“Some,” he shrugged. “Enough to know that I didn’t want that kind of life for Hadi. That I could give him something better. And I don’t care how people decide to see that. He’s my son.”

“I’m sorry,” Paz said, meaning the words. He wasn’t the kind of person who apologized often so when he did, Din knew he was sincere. He nodded appreciatively, and only felt relief now that everything was out.

“To Hadi,” Omera proclaimed, raising her bottle with a tender smile, the mood finally lifting.

“To Hadi,” Din and Paz repeated, clinking their bottles to hers.


	8. How to make your own coffee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay in posting this chapter! But I promise lots of fluff! :)  
> Thanks as always for all the comments and kudos, you are all so lovely.

They’d decided to do Thanksgiving at Paz’s place. Simply put, he had the bigger house – and the bigger TV to watch the football games the man had refused to miss. Winta and her usually went to Peli, but she was celebrating with her mystery friend this year. Said friend wasn’t that mysterious, at least not to her. Paz might also know, as he knew everything about everyone in town. Omera wouldn’t be surprised to learn he spent his nights trolling Nevarro’s Facebook pages.

Unsurprisingly, he was currently watching the second of the three NFL games in the next room, while Din and Winta were talking quietly at the recently cleared kitchen table.

“Why was the ball given to the defense? The offense didn’t score, right?” whispered her daughter, who was proud to use the words she had already picked up, keeping an eye on the TV in the living room.

“Because the offense didn’t manage to advance the required ten yards,” Din replied in a similar tone.

“But why is it ten yards?” wondered Winta.

“I don’t know, that’s just how it is. But what they should have done in their fourth down was punt the ball to the other team, because…”

“I can still hear you!” bellowed Paz.

Winta and Din had been forced to relocate to the kitchen because Paz couldn’t handle them discussing the rules next to him, apparently. Which Omera found quite rich coming from him, as he seemed to spend half his time yelling at the referee and umpire, and the other half at the coaches. Still, it was probably for the best, as he used some words Winta definitely didn’t need to learn just yet.

“Paz, it’s the Cowboys, we both know they’re going to lose that game,” Din replied after an exasperated sigh.

“You don’t know that!” Paz grumbled.

They continued their bickering through the door and Omera observed them with a smile. Clearly, she had the best spot – she’d dragged a comfy armchair from the living room and had a sleepy Hadi draped over her. The boy had eaten more than his share but then refused to be put down for a nap with a resounding ‘No’. Din hadn’t insisted, mostly because he was pleased he’d received a verbal answer, which was a recent development. Omera didn’t mind, far from it: any time spent in the little boy’s company was welcome. And at the moment, with the amount of food she’d also consumed, staying seated with a warm, soft weight over her was the best she could ask for.

“What’s a punt?” murmured Winta, pulling at Din’s sleeve when she felt the argument between the two – supposedly – grown men regarding the Dallas Cowboys had come to an end.

Her daughter had come a long way. She’d been friends with Paz for a while but Winta had always been slightly wary of him – something she could definitely understand. She was making an effort today. And yet, she was completely different with Din and had accepted him immediately. Sure, he was a lot less intimidating, but it was more than that. For all his pretense that he was new at the being a father thing, he was surprisingly at ease with her. She’d never had the impression he was forcing himself – behaving around her seemed natural. And her daughter appreciated being treated like an adult, she could tell.

As he launched himself into a lengthy – but very quiet – explanation of what a punt was, she refocused on Hadi, who emitted intermittent coos at his father’s voice. He was playing with her hair with half closed eyes, the movement repetitive and soothing. Omera kissed the crown of his head and he smiled. He smelled like baby shampoo and roast potatoes – a nice combination in her opinion.

Just as she was contemplating a nap of her own, lulled by the child slow breathing and Din’s quiet baritone, Paz erupted in the kitchen, startling her.

“You’re explaining this all wrong,” he complained, loudly, then proceeded to grab a folded diagram of a football field conveniently located nearby as well as several plastic toys that distinctly looked like Lego minifigures from where she sat. But Paz was taking this very seriously, and no one was laughing at him.

“What about the game?” Din remarked.

“Half-time,” his friend replied, laying out the different characters on the made-up field.

“And you think twelve minutes is gonna be enough to explain the rules of football to Winta?” he pointed out, and there was definitely amusement in his voice now.

“Well hopefully that’s enough time to fix your damage.”

“Hey!” Din protested, but then begrudgingly remained silent while Paz spent the next few minutes demonstrating – with Legos – why football was the greatest game there ever was. Something like that. Omera had stopped listening when he started talking about PATs, whatever those were. Still, she could tell her daughter was listening intently to his every word, her unease clearly put to rest. So intently that when the 12 minutes were up, she followed Paz back to the living room to watch the next quarter.

Din stayed where he was and stretched his back, groaning. Omera guessed the leaning over the table position to talk to Winta then listen to Paz hadn’t been great for him. Hadi decided he was also done with his almost nap and started fidgeting against her so she stood up.

“Baba,” the toddler immediately perked up when he spied his dad, and Din walked towards them with a smile.

“Could we swap our kids?” she joked as he approached, not feeling like handing Hadi back to him just yet.

“Would that be like a weekly loan or were you thinking longer term than that?” he replied, playing along.

“Maybe longer term, Winta seems really taken with you,” Omera added, then remembered the words she’d said to her daughter, weeks ago now. The words she had said to _herself_. ‘Don’t grow too attached.’ And here she was, hogging this man’s kid while her daughter had been asking him question after question about football, invading his space, and he’d answered all of them.

Was this all going to end badly when they left?

“I’m glad Winta also seems to finally get along with Paz. She always seemed a bit scared of him despite how long we’ve known each other,” she continued, more seriously.

Din recoiled slightly at her words, his playfulness replaced by uneasiness before he schooled his expression and rolled his shoulders back.

“Right, that’s nice,” he replied blandly, and Omera wondered what she had said to cause his reaction. He hadn’t exactly been distant the last two weeks since he opened up to Paz and her in Sorgan regarding his and Hadi’s strangely similar past, but he hadn’t been that much more talkative either. He remained quite the silent introspective type.

Thankfully, the boy chose that moment to remind them their adult considerations meant little to him and he grumbled at being ignored, frowning his little eyebrows in annoyance.

“Still sure you don’t want that nap, _habibi_? You could go lie down upstairs for a little bit,” suggested Din, stroking the boy’s back and forgetting about his earlier wish for distance.

“No,” replied Hadi, quite clearly, and Omera didn’t miss how thrilled the sound of that word made Din. Proud, too. Which was why she hadn’t pointed out to him yet that he would probably grow extremely tired of hearing it very quickly.

Despite his rebuff, the toddler still raised his head from the crook of her neck to look up at his dad with an expectant grin. Din reacted automatically and bent down to press a kiss in his dark hair, earning himself a contented coo. He was now standing so close that Omera could smell the lingering scent of chlorine on his skin, from his morning swim in the high school pool. She knew Paz let him sneak in on Sundays and holidays, and today was no exception. It wasn’t the first time she smelled it on him, and she’d strangely become quite attracted to it.

He pulled back then seemed to realize how close they were. Instead of shrinking away like earlier though, he angled his head to the side so that he could look into her eyes. His a pool of warmth and tenderness that filled her with longing. His smile was careful, but there, and she couldn’t help but copy it, giving him whatever encouragement he needed. Din’s gaze dipped downwards to her lips and his intent, though cautious, couldn’t have been clearer, and Omera held her breath.

“Touchdown!” came Paz’s yell from the other room.

They both backed off immediately, and even Hadi emitted a startled cry at the sudden explosion.

 _She was going to murder that man_.

“Maybe we should…” started Din.

“Yeah,” Omera, agreed, handing him a fussing Hadi who eventually settled in his arms while they both silently agreed to join the others in the living room.

Din sat next to Winta on the couch, which meant she had to sit next to Paz. Omera wasn’t sure why he had chosen this arrangement, but maybe it was for the best. She tried to focus on the game, but it was clear that despite the touchdown that had startled them both in the kitchen, the Dallas Cowboys were losing.

“You don’t even like the Cowboys,” grumbled Din, voicing her annoyance.

“They’ve had a decent season,” replied Paz, focused on the action.

Winta was silent, and trying hard to understand what was going on without asking questions. Hadi was more interested in the cookies on the coffee table than whatever was on TV. Din finally figured out what he wanted and stood up to grab one, Paz complaining he was blocking the screen. Din’s answer was whispered, but still quite clear. Another word neither children probably needed to hear but Omera sighed, wondering if she should close her eyes or go make some coffee.

“I hope you’re timing those laps,” came Paz’s voice later, telling her she had indeed closed her eyes as it looked like the end of the third quarter on the screen. “Use that fancy watch of yours.”

Din was currently letting Hadi play with his smartwatch. She knew he liked having Mickey Mouse telling him the time as it always caused a giggle.

“You mean at the pool? Why would I be timing my laps?” replied Din.

“To see if you’re getting any better,” Paz frowned, probably thinking it should be obvious but Din shrugged to let him know he didn’t particularly care. _Bad move_ , Omera thought, but part of her was pretty sure Din knew exactly what he was doing and wanted to rile his competitive friend up. So maybe she wasn’t the only one peeved by his timely interruption.

“You’re at least timing your runs, right?”

“When I remember to do it.”

“Next time you’re dropping off Hadi for an hour to go for a run, I’m gonna make sure.”

“What does it matter anyway?” asked Din innocently as the players were getting ready for the final quarter on the screen.

With an audible groan, Paz then proceeded to go on and on about the merits of sports, physical exertion, setting personal goals, etc. Winta stood up to grab a cookie and Hadi joined her to request a second one. Where the kids managed to find the room for more food, Omera didn’t know. They sat on the floor together to eat and look at the TV screen, ignoring Paz’s monologue completely. The man seemed to notice that he wasn’t making the progress he expected with Din, and turned towards her.

“You’re going to those yoga classes, right?”

“Huh, yes,” Omera replied. When she remembered to go, sure. Or had the energy. “It’s not Krav Maga, but it’s nice.” Lots of retired, bored women. But lots of clients from Sorgan too.

“Krav Maga?” repeated Paz, interested.

“We practiced regularly with my friend Fennec in Albuquerque, I loved it. It’s more self-defense than martial art, but…”

“I know what it is,” said Paz, standing up eagerly, his interest for the game clearly waning. “You still remember how to spar?” he added.

 _Oh no_ , what had she done? Omera sighed, standing up, regretting saying anything. But once she found herself in front of the bigger man that was probably more than twice her weight, she realized that maybe, just maybe, this could be her revenge. Because he clearly looked as if he didn’t expect her to be able to display any skill.

There was probably just enough room for the take-down she wanted to attempt. And there was a fair chance it wouldn’t work. But they’d repeated that particular technique so many times and if she could just get her right leg behind his knee…

Paz went down with a resounding thud.

He looked so surprised to find himself on the floor that he stayed there for a while, unmoving. Omera resisted asking him if he was okay. He looked stunned rather than in pain. And if she had bruised anything, it was probably only his ego.

The two kids wore similar expressions of confusion and Din looked…puzzled as well, but it was clearly a different kind of surprise. One that made her glow with pride and regret even more bitterly Paz’s interruption earlier. But at least she’d been able to even the score. Because he didn’t look like he wanted to get up anytime soon.

“Boom Paz,” came Hadi’s tiny voice in the eerie silence.

“Your kid said my name, I’m his third word!” marveled Paz, finally standing up.

“He didn’t say your name,” Din corrected, enjoying this immensely, “he said ‘Boom Paz’ when your ass connected with the ground.”

“Boom Paz!” repeated Hadi, proving him right.

“Still, that’s gotta count,” grumbled the big man, sitting on the sofa again and pretending to be immersed with the game once more.

“It does if you agree to be ‘Boom Paz’ moving forward,” Din pointed out as Omera tried to hide her smile as she also retook her place.

“Boom Paz!” Hadi piped up, raising his half-eaten cookie in the air.

“Looks like I don’t really have a choice,” he sighed.

“I think the Cowboys are really going to lose that game,” remarked Winta later.

“What’s a PAT?” asked Omera, as Paz seemed to have accepted the rules of watching football in his house had changed.

“Point-after-touchdown, the conversion after a team scores,” he replied automatically.

 _Point-after-touchdown, that sounded about right_ , she thought, pleased with herself.

It was a few days later in Sorgan and Omera was enjoying a moment of quiet on a slow afternoon. Peli was helping out behind the counter, and she sat by the window with a warm coffee and some invoices she was pretending to read. Din had left to pick up Hadi at the daycare center and she let her mind wander. Surely they’d be able to find a moment of quiet of their own one of these days. Hopefully.

“Hey,” said Paz, sitting in front of her without warning. Omera hadn’t seen or heard him come in, which was saying a lot about her state of mind. Given the man’s gleeful expression, it was clear that he had enjoyed startling her.

“Want anything to drink?” she asked, but he shook his head and pretexted he had already had too much coffee – and sugar – today.

“If it’s about those Krav Maga classes I told you already, I don’t have the time,” she quipped.

“Very funny,” Paz barked, crossing his arms over his expansive chest.

Omera hid her smirk by taking a sip of coffee and wondered what had brought him here. He sometimes showed up at the end of his day, sure. But today he looked like he actually wanted to talk about something.

“You know they give judo lessons in Mancos, I checked. I think you’d like it. I know the _sensei_ if you want me to introduce you,” he said, which was clearly not the subject he had come to talk about, but she appreciated it nonetheless.

“Why not, it’s bound to be better than yoga.”

“Probably,” he agreed, then looked at his hands over the table. He was nervous. Paz didn’t do nervous.

“What’s up?” she pressed.

“Did Din talk to you?” he eventually asked.

“Talk to me about what?”

“Just, you know, _talked_.”

“If you mean anything like two weeks ago when Hadi had his episode, then no.”

“But he comes here almost every day and you _do_ talk, right?”

“Yes, a little,” she admitted. Sometimes he opened up a bit. Memories from his childhood in Nevarro. Doubts he had over raising Hadi. But those moments were rare and never lasted long: just brief flashes of his personality he’d share for an instant.

“Did he tell you how long he intended to stay here?” Paz wondered.

“Until after the holidays, is what he told me, so at least another month I guess. Why, has he told you different?” she wondered, worried.

“No, he told me the same thing. But he hasn’t mentioned if he’d made progress on finding a place to live?” he insisted.

“You probably see him more than me,” she remarked. “If he hasn’t talked to you about it, it must be that he still doesn’t know.”

“Mmh,” Paz replied, unconvinced.

“Why?” Omera pushed. “Has something happened?”

“It’s very possible he wouldn’t tell me when he intends to leave, though. He’s done that in the past,” Paz answered, evading her question.

“When he left after his parents died,” she assumed, as neither Din nor him had ever talked about it in her presence.

“Yeah,” he agreed with a sigh, looking out the window at the darkening sky.

“Can you tell me what happened back then?” she inquired softly, unsure if she was allowed to ask.

“To this day, I’m not sure,” Paz admitted. “I was away at college when his parents had their car accident. It was almost the end of the school year, and last time I’d been home, he was all set to do the same as me. Had a scholarship for a decent university, he wanted to become a doctor. I heard what happened from my pap and I rushed to Nevarro as fast as I could, but he’d already left. Sold the house, everything. Just gone.”

“Did you try to reach him?” Omera wondered, trying to imagine the frame of mind of an eighteen year old who’d just lost both his parents.

“His phone, email, everything. We all tried. He changed his number and the emails were never answered. I knew he had an uncle in Las Vegas and managed to track him down but he told me he hadn’t seen him for years. Didn’t seem much bothered that his brother had died, though, so I guess they weren’t close.”

“And you had no news for twenty years.”

“None, zero. He just disappeared. Didn’t go to his university in September, nothing. It was brutal, you know? And his parents were really nice folks, it shook the whole town for a while. And then… People moved on, as they do,” he grumbled.

 _But you didn’t_ , thought Omera, who realized that Paz had been hurt deeply by the disappearance of his friend, and likely still felt guilty that he hadn’t been able to be there for him.

“When did you learn he was in the army?” she asked, forcing him to focus on the positive – he’d found him again, after all.

“By accident, really. When I moved back to Nevarro for good, eight years ago. I Googled his name and learned this Captain Djarin had just been awarded a commendation medal or something. And I recognized him on the picture,” he shrugged.

“Did you think about reaching out to him then?”

“I don’t know,” he replied, and Omera figured he didn’t want to share that with her. “I kept thinking he’d left for a reason and if he wanted to reconnect he would do it himself.”

“And he did, kind of,” she pointed out.

Paz muttered an expletive that contained the word ‘stubborn’ and she could only agree.

“Now that you also know more about his childhood, and that he was adopted, that must help you understand why he left like that, though,” she remarked.

“How do you mean?” he frowned.

“Well…” she started, hoping she would be able to find the right words, as she was voicing this for the first time. “Think about it. His parents died suddenly. Twice. By his own admission, his adoptive family meant the world to him. And from what you just told me he didn’t seem to have any other. Or none that actually cared for him.”

“And? He had friends here, people who cared for him as you said. People who had cared for his parents,” Paz replied bitterly.

“Yes, but… Paz, he was eighteen. _Eighteen_ , and he’d just lost his parents for the second time. Leaving Nevarro behind was probably the only thing he felt he had control over.”

“He didn’t have to burn all his bridges, though,” he snapped, only half convinced, and Omera raised her shoulders. The rest was down to Paz. And to Din. She could only do so much for them.

“Who else did you Google when you came back?” she asked to change the subject and bring back some levity in their conversation.

“Oh, pretty much everybody,” he admitted with a smirk.

“And my guess is you’ve kept at it,” she added, waggling her eyebrows.

“You wouldn’t believe some of the stuff people post online. They don’t realize it’s there for anyone to see.”

“Anyone being you,” and Paz shrugged innocently.

Omera made no further comment, because she wasn’t immune to some juicy gossip herself. And also, she knew that the man’s wish to learn everything he could from Nevarro’s residents came from a need to find out how he was perceived. It hadn’t taken her long after moving in town to realize that the Vizsla’s name was one that was whispered with suspicion. And that Paz had to fight hard to reclaim its merit. She’d seen him struggle with it in the five years she had been here, and he finally seemed to be in a good spot in the community, and well-respected as the football coach.

As she was contemplating how to ask him what he’d _actually_ come to ask her, a new patron arrived.

“Speaking of Internet sensations…” she couldn’t help but whisper, and Paz guffawed.

“Shouldn’t you go help Peli?” he asked as they tried to discreetly observe him.

“It’s fine, he’s only going to order an Americano, she can handle it, it’s the simplest drink in the world to make.”

“I didn’t know you offered those…” Paz pointed out.

“I don’t, but that’s what he asked for the first time he came here and well…he’s the Sheriff, I didn’t feel like making an enemy out of him,” she replied, half serious.

Peli greeted the man with her usual lack of cheer, but there was an unmissable spring in her step as she walked to the coffee machine to prepare his order.

“So it’s really true, then?” marveled Paz, eyes locked on the scene.

“Seems so, he definitely knew she’d be working at the counter right now.”

“I thought he was into that bartender, Weequay.”

“And I thought he was into that deputy of his, Issa. But I guess we were both wrong,” Omera said.

“Yeah, I guess…” Paz agreed as they observed the Sheriff exiting Sorgan with his Americano, nodding towards them on his way out but sparing a final look towards Peli.

“So come on,” sighed Omera now that the distraction had gone – Winta would also be home soon. “Are you gonna tell me why you’re really here?”

“Din asked me if we were together,” he blurted out.

“What?” she exclaimed, loudly, then lowered her voice when a few clients turned towards her in alarm. “Together as in…”

“Yes,” cut in Paz, unable to mask his amusement.

“He actually thinks you and I are…”

“I know, it’s crazy right?” he laughed, but Omera grimaced.

“It does explain why he behaved so strangely, though…” she realized, remembering his attitude on Thanksgiving day. That and a lot of other small things.

“When? What did he do?” pressed Paz, curious.

“Nothing,” she replied quickly, and it wasn’t a lie. Nothing had happened, after all. _Thanks to him_.

Omera sighed. She was probably partly to blame there. It must have been weird to see her so close to his old childhood friend. And it wasn’t like she had given him any explanation. Truth was, it wasn’t the first time someone thought Paz and her were an item. And she’d never corrected that assumption because it suited her – no one was going to be annoying in town if they thought she was with Paz. And it had worked. She was pretty sure she was just as useful to Paz, who didn’t mind than an army of single moms – and dads – whose kids he was coaching believed he was involved with her.

Paz started looking nervous again, and she realized he still hadn’t told her everything.

“What did you say to him?” she asked, dreading his answer.

“It’s possible I didn’t manage to dissuade him of that notion but that’s my fault, I’ve set a bad precedent.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Back in high school, I might not always have been very…considerate of his feelings.”

“Paz, what the hell does that mean?” Omera pressed, tired of going around in circles with him.

“Well, it’s like you said earlier. I was eighteen, too. And I was stupid. And an ass.”

Omera put two and two together quickly. It didn’t surprise her one bit to learn that Paz had been some kind of bully.

“Did you steal his girlfriend back then, is that it?” she muttered, shuddering at the thought of having to deal with Winta’s high school dramas in a few short years.

“No!” he protested loudly. “I just…reacted more quickly than him, it’s not my fault he was so slow to do anything when he said he liked a girl.”

“So you went out with the girl he liked just because _you_ could?”

“He found other girls that he liked,” he defended himself.

“So you did that more than one time?” she guessed, slightly horrified and Paz only shrugged.

“He did date Kim in Junior Year and I had nothing to do with that,” he pointed out unhelpfully.

Omera groaned and massaged her scalp – she could feel a headache coming in and she had unfortunately finished her coffee. But it was for the best, she would have been tempted to pour the hot liquid over his lap otherwise.

“I mean, she dumped his ass pretty quickly but they both got what they wanted from the relationship, I think. She got to date the team’s quarterback and he got to… Well, you know…”

“Paz, just stop talking,” Omera pleaded.

“I promise I told him we weren’t together, I know you like him and if he asked me, then it must mean he clearly likes you.”

Hearing Paz’s words, Omera couldn’t help but feel she was right in the middle of a high school drama of her own. She thought she was done with that dreadful time, and had no wish to revisit it. She closed her eyes, and tried to persuade herself that she was an adult, and that she knew what she was doing – or at least, she’d gotten better at pretending that she did.

“Did I get it wrong?” Paz asked softly.

“Get what wrong?” she mumbled, hands still over her eyes.

“You don’t like him?”

“Paz, this isn’t high school anymore, we can have more complex relationships with people.”

“Oh, alright, do you want to have a _complex relationship_ with him then?” he joked, and she groaned again.

She had managed to get rid of Paz in the end, but not the stupid ideas he had put into her head. Yes, she did _like_ Din, but she was also a realist. There was a reason why she’d had no serious relationship since Winta’s father died and had enjoyed giving people the impression she was with Paz. And also, what was the point anyway? He’d be gone in a month time and it would be hard enough to lose a new friend and his adorable kid.

And yet all those considerations went out the window when he showed up the next morning before opening time. She waved him in with a smile and he nodded in thanks.

“Sorry, it’s early,” he mumbled, unzipping Hadi’s jacket and putting him down. The little boy immediately ran towards the toys in the corner with an excited squee, the yellow pompon on his head bouncing with each step.

“Did he steal your coffee this morning?” she asked.

“No, he just woke up like this, didn’t have time to have my own coffee. He was buzzing with energy and I knew we needed to leave the house,” he explained, and he certainly looked the part – sleepy eyes, wild hair, and the remains of either toothpaste or formula on his collar.

“Come and make your own espresso then, it’s about time you learned,” she decided, beckoning him behind the counter.

His reaction was half smile, half sigh, but he did as she asked, placing his and Hadi’s discarded jackets on a table on the way.

“Go ahead, I’ll guide you,” Omera said, standing behind him.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” he wondered after pressing the required buttons and checking the pressure gauge at her request.

“Don’t worry, you’re a natural,” she replied, and he rolled his eyes. “Now put the coffee in the portafilter, I’ve already prepared it.”

“I only have two hands!” he remarked over the noise as he now also had to deal with the steam valve and wand.

“Fine, I’ll do that part,” she conceded, moving to his side, “but watch how I’m doing it for next time.”

“I am watching,” Din said, shoulder rubbing against hers, his tone forcing her to actually focus on what she was doing. It took her more time than usual to do such a simple task.

But he was watching her so closely that he’d forgotten to keep an eye on the pressure gauge, and she heard the tell-tale loud hiss of pressurized water escaping.

“Careful!” she warned, pulling him towards her so that he didn’t burn himself.

“Sorry,” he uttered, slightly chastened, but the way his lips curled up told her he was having fun.

“You let too much pressure build up,” she reprimanded him, noticing that her arms were still around his waist and that he hadn’t pulled away.

“I’m afraid I did, yeah,” he admitted, and looked at her, his eyes searching her face. If he expected to find any doubt there, they’d be here for a while.

Din slowly leaned down and pressed his forehead to hers, giving her time to withdraw if she wanted to. But she shifted closer and moved her hands from his waist to his shoulders to curl around the back of his neck, playing with the hair at his nape. He lowered his head until their noses brushed and brought her infinitely closer, his own hands pulling her in.

“Kiss me already…” she whispered, but he didn’t give her time to complete her sentence before he pressed his lips to hers. Softly at first, then with more insistence when her fingers threaded through his hair. Omera was the first to deepen the kiss, but there was no complaint from Din who followed suit, and they forgot about the need for caffeine for a while, as this was assuredly a much nicer way to get heart palpitations.

“How many points can you score after a touchdown? That PAT thing Paz was talking about the other day,” she asked Din when they pulled back for air.

“What?” he replied, utterly befuddled and disheveled, his mind clearly not on football at the moment, but rather on her figure still pressed to his.

“Points-after-touchdown,” she repeated more slowly, hands sliding to his neck, “how many points is that?”

“It depends,” he said, warm gaze following her every move. “You can either choose to go for an extra point that’s easy to score, or you can try for a two-point conversion. But that’s riskier, and harder to get.”

“I like risks,” she decided, and kissed him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My friend Red Velvet Panda gifted me with this wonderful illustration for Chapter 7, thank you so, so much again, I adore it!
> 
> [Tumblr Link](https://red-velvet-panda.tumblr.com/post/639654021508005888/i-was-lucky-enough-to-draw-azerty-in-the-new-years)


	9. How to spend an evening in a coffee shop

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heavy dintrospection in this chapter (hopefully not too heavy though!)  
> Thank you, as always, for your lovely comments.
> 
> PS: writing this story actually made me buy a new coffee machine. Oh well...

Din could tell it had snowed during the night even before he opened his eyes. There was a remarkable stillness to the air and all sounds coming from outside his window were somehow muffled. He breathed in deeply, enjoying the quiet, and decided that he was in no rush to get up. He could enjoy the warmth of the comforter for a little longer, as there was no sound coming from the next bedroom. It seemed that on this particular Saturday morning, Hadi had decided to take his time waking up as well. Which was for the best, as he had a nightmare around midnight and it had taken him a while to settle again.

Din kept his eyes closed, savoring the moment before their day started. The realization that his life had unequivocally changed had stopped being so arresting. He’d accepted it as a fact, now. He’d gone from a life of having to deal with several important tasks at once and make difficult decisions virtually 24/7 to dedicating his time to one thing only: the well-being of his child. Fully expecting to get bored after a few weeks, he’d been certain he’d start looking for a new job in no time.

And yet here he was, early morning after an almost full night of sleep, and he couldn’t wait for the boy to wake up to see the look on his face when he discovered the snow outside for the first time. Every day seemed to bring a new discovery, and Hadi’s childlike wonder and amazement was worth the thousand words he still couldn’t say.

Although there again, day after day, the kid was making progress. He’d almost been able to say Winta’s name on Thursday, and the girl had looked so thrilled he’d repeated her name to Hadi all throughout the afternoon and evening before bed, to make sure he’d say it again the next day, and it had worked.

Ahsoka had loaned him books he had read studiously, and what he’d learned there had come to fruition: the boy had started to thrive once they’d fallen into a routine. And English was no longer such a mystery to him thanks to his increased socializing at the daycare center and with Winta, Omera and Paz – the latter proving to be a strangely reliable babysitter when he needed some downtime.

Din finally rose, and immediately put on socks and extra layers. The chill in the air was quickly set aside when he opened the blinds and saw for himself that his assumption had been correct – the back garden was covered in thick snow, the slowly brightening sky promising more. He tiptoed towards Hadi’s room but found him sitting up in his crib, babbling quietly to his favorite plush, apparently waiting for him.

“Baba!” he exclaimed, raising his arms expectantly.

“Morning Hadi, did you sleep well?” he asked him in Arabic, grabbing the tail of his red panda plush so that the boy would have something to play with while he changed him.

The books Ahsoka had given him had also provided good insights on how to deal with the two languages. He should limit Arabic to moments when it was just the two of them at home, then completely switch to English when other people were around, so that he’d gradually come to see the difference between the two. But Din did make some concessions, or simply forgot sometimes, especially when Hadi was having a difficult time.

He was utterly calm and pleasant today, though. Despite his nightmare. So Din took his time getting him ready, choosing warm clothes to go outside later while the toddler continued babbling and cooing to him, in no rush to get to his breakfast for once. He wondered if all babies were that unpredictable. Sometimes Hadi woke up in a terrible mood, fussing and crying until well into the morning, while other times he was a bundle of energy, letting him know as soon as he woke up that he wanted to run around and play. And on days like today, he just wanted hugs and warmth and attention. This was definitely his favorite morning-Hadi, even if it meant he probably wouldn’t be able to unglue him from his side or convince him to go outside for a little while.

But that was fine with Din.

They relocated to the couch downstairs, Hadi had his bottle and half a bagel, while he ate the other half with his coffee.

“You’re still waking up, _habibi_?” he asked him quietly when he felt him burrow against him, his little hands gripping his sweater tightly.

“Bah,” replied the boy unhelpfully, although it wasn’t hard to guess what he wanted or needed from him, and Din gave in easily, raising his left arm to hug the small shape to his chest and grab his stuffed toy that lay next to his discarded empty bottle.

“You want Alba?” he offered, and Hadi nodded as he seized the red panda to use as an extra pillow and play with its stripy tail.

The plushie was a recent acquisition. One he had let Hadi choose when they had ventured to the nearby department store. Faced with an impressive number of possibilities, the boy had looked overwhelmed at first, then zeroed in on the shaggy and soft creature. Finding a name for it had taken longer, and had actually required Din to do some research as he had no idea what red pandas were called in Arabic. _Albanida al'ahmar_ had been a mouthful even for him, but Hadi had seemed to enjoy the shortened version of ‘Alba’.

He'd dreaded those outings before, as he had no wish to come across anyone he had known as a kid. But now that he’d been in Nevarro for close to two months, he’d started feeling that maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing to be recognized, and he had the distinct impression that Paz had somehow played a role in that, informing people of his return. Din was now stopped at least once a day by someone who wanted to ask him how he’d been, praise him for his career, talk to him about his parents, or – and it was secretly his favorite because they weren’t to know – marvel at how much little Hadi looked like him.

Not for the first time, he wondered when the shift had happened. When taking care of the boy had stopped being something he felt he _had_ to do but rather something he _wanted_ to do. When he’d first come across Hadi, that terrible day halfway across the world when he found him in the rubbles, he hadn’t looked at what he was doing as any different than any other mission or operation. A child needed his help and he could give it. Even deciding to adopt him and putting an end to his time in the army had felt like a duty at first rather than a choice – he knew the boy had little chance of a happy, fulfilling life where he was. And that was something else he could give him. Hopefully. The fact that the toddler had set his heart on him didn’t register at first. It could have been anyone else. It just happened to be him.

And yes, he had struggled at the beginning. Spending countless sleepless nights reading everything he could find on subjects ranging from how to deal with childhood trauma to the best mashed carrots recipe.

“Baba,” mumbled Hadi, snuggling even closer to him.

Was that it? The triggering event? When Hadi had decided to verbally acknowledge him as his father? Most of his adult life had been spent doing what was asked of him. But ever since he’d arrived in Nevarro, ever since he’d made the choice to come back, he found himself doing things for no ulterior motive than wanting to do them. The boy’s well-being was still his number one priority, yes, but he’d discovered that strangely enough, what was good for the child was also good for him.

It also hadn’t escaped him that he’d pretty much stopped looking for another place to live. Or a job. Because when he started listening to the voice inside him, the one that was getting louder and louder, the one pushing him to do things he _wanted_ to do, pushing him to see Hadi as his son and not his charge, the answer was unequivocal – he wanted to stay. He wanted to spend time with Omera and get to know her. He wanted to still be around in the summer to watch baseball and the Colorado Rockies get thrashed on TV with Paz. He wanted to show all the people of Nevarro who stopped him in the street or in the cereals aisle at the supermarket that he wasn’t going to run away a second time.

But Hadi had to come first. And despite his recent progress, he still wasn’t convinced a small town hours away from any kind of mental health facility, should he ever need it, was the solution. He still had nightmares. What if he didn’t manage to snap him out of his delusion the next time he had an episode like the one in Sorgan? What if they became worse with age instead of better?

Din sighed, and rubbed the sleepy boy’s back soothingly. He still had three weeks to figure it out, and he would. Peli would surely start getting fed up with his antics and stop offering him to stay another extra month.

In the meantime, he’d keep on doing what was best for Hadi. And at the moment, it was establishing routines, and they had one every Saturday.

“Why don’t we go outside for a bit and play with Pit? It snowed last night, and you’ve never seen snow, I’m sure you’re gonna love it.”

The boy babbled in reply, in no rush to move from his cozy spot, Alba’s fluffy tail softly resting on his cheek.

“And tonight is pizza night in Sorgan with Omera, Winta and Paz,” he reminded him, and that got a bit more of a reaction. But Din wasn’t sure if it was at the mention of food or the people. Probably both, and that was fine.

* * *

Din had never been much of a talker, and being around Hadi had been a learning curve in that area, as he could see the results when he forced himself to fill in the silence with words. Still, it was always a relief to have more adult conversations, like when he spent time at the coffee shop. Even if it was just to order a drink.

“I think I’m going to try that speculoos latte today,” he said, shivering slightly.

“All that sugar for you, really? That’s rare,” noted Omera with a smirk.

“We’ve had an eventful day,” he sighed, feeling melting snow dampening his sweater under his jacket. Hadi’s pompon kept tickling his face as he tried to hold him still, but it was proving to be a struggle – the boy had _definitely_ taken to the snow, and he now bitterly regretted how calm and easy-going he had been that morning.

“Extra shot?” she surmised.

“ _Please_.”

He waited for his order by the counter – it was late afternoon and the place had started to empty, meaning they’d be able to sit at their usual booth. Din hoped the caffeine would give him the necessary boost of energy to not fall asleep just yet but rather entertain the kid with quieter games.

Thankfully, Winta chose that moment to join them and excitedly asked if she could read stories to Hadi, who immediately said her name. Well, what passed for her name, in any case.

“Wina!” the boy cheered, almost head-butting him in the process of turning towards the girl.

“Sure,” he replied, equally relieved by her offer than by the promise of coffee. “Careful, he’s a bit hyper, though,” he warned, setting Hadi down and removing his jacket. The hat he could keep – for the simple reason that he would complain fiercely if he tried to take it off.

“It’s fine!” promised the young girl, rushing to the kid corner, Hadi toddling behind her at high speed. Din observed them and sighed longingly.

“Makes you wonder where they get their energy,” said Omera, reading his thoughts.

“Yeah,” he nodded, accepting his latte with a whispered thanks, their fingers interlocking for an instant on the cup. Since Hadi was occupied, nothing was preventing him from sitting at the counter, and he did, Omera answering his smile with one of her own before she had to take another order from a waiting customer.

The last week had seen them grow a bit closer, and probably wanting to grow even closer than that, but with her work and their kids, it had been difficult to find the opportunity to exchange more than stolen touches over cups of coffee or rushed kisses after closing time. He’d been anticipating the evening as it would at least give them the chance to speak for longer than five minutes. Din knew for a fact that Paz would immediately figure out that something had changed since their last pizza evening – something they’d started doing ever week – and tease him mercilessly, but even that he would suffer through if it meant they could spend time together.

Which was why his first reaction after closing time when Omera told him Paz wouldn’t be coming as he had a meeting at the school was to ask her if they should reschedule to next week.

“Why would I want to reschedule?” she wondered, arms crossed over the counter.

“Because Paz can’t make it?” he replied, realizing too late that his remark sounded like a question.

“I’m sure we will have fun without him,” she said, sliding her hands across the polished surface to grab his. He brushed her knuckles with his thumbs and felt a bit silly for having implied they wouldn’t. She pulled at his hands and he looked up, startled.

“I want to spend time with _you_ ,” she spelled out for him, and this time he smiled.

“Me too,” he nodded, and stopped focusing on Paz or what it meant that he had informed _her_ and not _him_ that he wouldn’t join them tonight. The man had all but laughed in his face when he’d asked him point blank if he was seeing Omera. The last thing he wanted was coming between them, but they’d both denied they were more than friends.

“I’ll play with the kids for a bit and finish cleaning up later. Why don’t you go order the pizzas next door?” she suggested, her warm stare easily erasing his remaining doubts. That and the lingering kiss she pressed to his cheek before joining the children across the room in their loud game.

Din observed them for a while, Omera sitting on the floor and immediately accepting the toy car Hadi handed her then forced himself to leave before he started to let his mind wander again.

They all ate together, Hadi managing to get most of the food in his mouth on his own and only wiping his hands _once_ on Din’s sweater, then the kids were allowed to play for a little longer before the boy started to get too tired and cranky. Din usually put him to bed in Winta’s lower bunk and he’d still be fast asleep when he came to pick him up whenever Paz, Omera and him were done with their evening. This Saturday was no different, or at least he pretended that it wasn't, as he read him a couple of stories with Winta lingering in the background. She was dressed in her pajamas already and allowed to watch a film quietly in the living room but she preferred to stay there with them. Again, it was best not to let his mind wander.

He rejoined Omera downstairs once Hadi was asleep – the snow had clearly exhausted him and he’d gone down like a light despite his fierce refusal to be put to bed half an hour prior – and he tried to pretend that she would have also been waiting for him with a beer if Paz had been there. Although hopefully not with the same impish look in her eyes.

“What?” he asked her, sitting across from her and accepting the drink.

“Nothing,” she denied, but the look was still there. “Is Winta watching her film?”

“Yeah, something with superheroes,” he confirmed. “Not Batman, unfortunately.”

“Sorry about that,” she deadpanned, and Din smiled, taking a sip of his beer.

“Why Batman by the way?” Omera wondered.

“Don’t know exactly,” he replied, shrugging. “I liked that he had no superpowers but could still kick some ass, I guess. Maybe the fact that he was an orphan, too,” Din admitted. “Though I realized it later. And he’s not the only comic book character like that, far from it.”

“Did you read a lot of comics as a kid?”

“I had a nice collection,” he hedged. “I regret selling it, now. It would be worth a lot more money than it probably sold for back then.” And it would have been nice to read them again, he thought, but didn’t say.

“You sold them?” she asked, surprised.

“I sold everything before I left, I didn’t keep much, it seemed pointless. The house and whatever was in it. My parents still had part of their mortgage to pay off, and they were just teachers,” he said, keeping his explanation short, as he didn’t particularly want to revisit those memories or ruin the mood. “I wish I could have given the Hulk ones to Paz, though,” he recalled more fondly. “Hulk was his favorite.”

“I wonder why…” Omera commented with a small smile. “How close were you as kids, you and Paz?”

“We were friends,” he replied simply, curious to know what she meant with her question.

“No, but I mean… Was he your _best_ friend? You both seem different and yet – ”

“What?” he frowned, fidgeting slightly.

“The way you behave when you’re together, now. It almost looks like you never left. Like you picked things up right where you left them twenty years ago.”

“So?” he said defensively.

“Don’t you know how rare that is?”

And Din stayed silent, because he had no idea. There was no one else in his life like Paz. He’d always thought their relationship was a little strange, and not exactly friendship, especially back in high school when they had gotten older and everything revolved around the football team. But Omera was right. Even if he had no other precedent to compare this too, he knew he should consider himself lucky. His return to Nevarro could have been a lot more painful. And Paz could have given him a much different welcome.

“I wasn’t sure how he’d behave around me,” he admitted. “I guess it’s a good thing he didn’t decide to kick my ass – he had reasons to.”

“From what I heard, he was also an ass to you,” Omera smirked.

“What did he tell you?” he asked her, dreading her answer.

“Enough,” she replied enigmatically, rising from the booth to get more beers.

“Tell me about Paz and high school,” she requested once she was back.

“Oh God, really?” he grumbled, but her hand lingered in his hair as she sat down again, closer to him than before, and he knew he was a lost cause. Especially when she looked at him with those eyes.

And so he started by recounting his first meeting with Paz in junior high, then tried to remember funny anecdotes over the years, and it wasn’t as hard as he had imagined. Omera brushed her fingers against his where his arm rested on the table and he was quick to return the gesture, curling his fingers around hers.She had high school memories of her own to share and one thing they definitely agreed on by the end was that they were glad those years were behind them.

“Only a few years then it’s going to be Winta’s turn, but hearing you talk about your experience here is actually reassuring, sounds like you didn’t have too much of a bad time,” she noted.

“It was a long time ago, though,” Din remarked, preferring not to do the exact math for his own peace of mind.

“Still,” she shrugged, her shoulder rubbing against his, “it makes me feel a little better about it.”

Din found himself wondering what it would be like if he stayed in Nevarro for good. If Hadi went to high school here. The same high school he’d gone too. The same high school his parents had taught at. Would that be such a bad life for him?

“And also, Paz will be there, and they’re getting along fine now,” Omera continued, unaware of his internal conflict. Would that make him a bad father, offering Hadi the same kind of childhood he had, or a good one instead? Wasn’t he supposed to try and give him something _better_? Something more?

“I think he really missed you,” she said, and this time her words registered and cut his inner musings short.

“What?” he still pressed, and her hand gripped his tighter.

“Paz. He won’t say it but you disappearing, that hurt him a lot.”

Din stopped himself from saying anything rash and mulled over her words and his answer instead. But he wasn’t sure he could explain it to her. It had taken him so long to come to terms with what he’d done. Realize why he had made the decision to leave everything and everyone behind. Say it out loud though? He wasn’t sure he was ready for that. So instead, he gazed down at Omera’s hand in his. How small it looked.

“Why did you leave Nevarro?” she whispered softly, the warmth of her breath against his neck.

“I just couldn’t stay,” he replied in a similar tone. The words wouldn’t come, even if he felt he owed her some kind of explanation.

“From what I understand, your parents were very well-regarded in town. Paz only had good things to say about them, and I know he didn’t have the easiest childhood.”

That was an understatement. He wondered what the man had shared with her in the five years they had known each other. But it was also nice to hear, though painful, that his old friend had enjoyed those moments they spent at his house when they were kids. There had been a few holidays, too. His parents had known that wasn’t something his pap could give him, and he’d gone to a few camping trips with them over the years. Din had realized many years later as an adult the impact his parents had on his life. And apparently on the lives of others. He had taken a lot of things for granted back then.

“I lied to you,” he said, trying to order his thoughts.

“When?” she asked, settling even more against him instead of recoiling at his words.

“When I said to you and Paz that being adopted wasn’t a problem for me. I asked them a lot of questions growing up. I called them mom and dad but I could still remember my life from before.”

Din pushed from his mind the decision he would have to make someday soon. He’d always known Alec and Maja Djarin had adopted him but Hadi was too young to recall his parents. Should he tell him the truth? And if so how, and when? Wouldn’t it be easier to wait? Let him enjoy a simpler childhood unmarred by war and loss and pain?

“I think it’s normal that you would have questions for them,” reasoned Omera. “I would have too in your shoes.”

“I just wish I’d been a bit nicer about them,” he sighed, listing one of his many regrets.

“You were angry.”

“Yeah,” he admitted.

“Find me an eighteen-year old who isn’t angry about something,” she quipped, and he managed a small smile.

“But that’s the last memory I have of them. Angry, stupid words. And I couldn’t take them back or have a chance to apologize and it made me feel…”

But he stopped with a sharp exhale and Omera didn’t push him. She hadn’t known his parents and it made it a bit easier to talk to her about them. There was less judgement.

“Winta could say awful, hurtful things to me but it wouldn’t make me love her any less,” she told him, head resting against his shoulder now.

Din knew her words were true enough. And although it had taken him years, he’d eventually come to terms with the fact that he couldn’t let the last exchange he ever had with his parents erase all the others. But he’d reacted rashly then because the truth was, he just couldn’t face anyone in Nevarro. Couldn’t bear to look into people’s eyes and read pity. Hear all the good things they had to say about his parents. Because he was _ashamed_ for having questioned their love.

Omera’s arms moved to encircle his waist, and he let her warmth surround him. Whatever he decided to tell Hadi once he was old enough, he knew for a fact already that what he said to him in reply wouldn’t matter. He’d be allowed to be as angry as he wanted – he’d still be there for him, he’d still love him. He’d give him all the time and space he needed and help him through it.

“Are you falling asleep?” Omera asked a little while later, chuckling against his chest.

“No,” he denied, opening his eyes quickly – this was just too comfortable.

“Good, because it’s still early and I start later tomorrow,” she stated, raising her head towards him. He was pretty sure he knew what the look in her eyes meant, but thankfully she kissed him before he had time to formulate the question he still felt he needed to ask. He smiled against her lips and deepened the kiss, pulling her closer.

“But I still need to clean up a bit down here,” she eventually lamented, pulling back.

“Need my help?” he offered, although the last thing he wanted was for her to leave his arms, so he pressed kisses to her neck instead.

“You’re not helping,” she complained, nails dragging against his scalp.

“Sorry,” Din replied, sounding anything but as his lips found _that_ spot behind her ear.

“Give me twenty minutes,” she grumbled, finally managing to extricate herself from his hold. “Go upstairs, Winta should be in bed already. If she’s not, tell her she can watch the rest of her film tomorrow. She annoyingly does everything you say.”

“Alright,” he agreed with a sigh, standing up as the same time as her.

“Don’t fall asleep!” she said to his retreating back and he grinned. The door leading to Omera’s apartment was usually locked and hidden behind a ‘STAFF ONLY’ sign. Din knew he shouldn’t take for granted the fact that he was allowed to spend time in her and her daughter’s home. Sorgan was neutral ground. This was their private space.

Which explained why his first reaction upon finding Winta asleep on the couch in the living room was to feel like an intruder. He stayed rooted to his spot, unsure of what he should do. And then he realized what Omera would do if their roles were reversed and gently picked her up. The girl mumbled something in her sleep and gripped his shoulders tightly. With a lump in his throat, he walked to her room and laid her in her bed. Removed her slippers and pulled the comforter around her, as if he’d done it a thousand times.

“Night, Din,” she whispered sleepily, telling him she’d known it was him all along.

“Night, Winta,” he replied, then checked that Hadi was still fast asleep in the lower bunk. Fists tightly clenched around his plushie, he got his answer loud and clear.

Din pulled the door on his way out but didn’t close it completely and tiptoed back to the living room. He sat on the sofa and felt himself succumb to the same state as the children, the warmth of the quiet picture they had made enveloping him, so he forced himself to find something to watch on TV instead. He chose a basketball game rerun, crossed his arms over his chest, and settled against the armrest. Omera would be done in twenty minutes, she had said. In the end, it only took him about ten to fall asleep.

He didn’t hear her say his name when she returned or felt her hand stroking his hair or the press of her lips against his cheek. Didn’t hear her quiet giggle or felt the sofa dip beside him when she sat down. Didn’t hear her sigh as she fell asleep beside him. But he did see her next to him when he opened his eyes an hour later. Her relaxed features and slow, deep breaths. She probably wouldn’t wake up completely either if he were to carry her to bed. But one, that would mean moving from his spot. And two, he’d then have to figure out whether he was supposed to join her in bed, go back to the couch, or leave with Hadi. And there was only one thing he wanted right now. So Din toed off his shoes, grabbed the folded blanket he was currently using as a pillow, laid down a bit more comfortably on the cushions and gently pulled Omera towards him. He wasn’t sure she’d woken up, but she still seemed to figure out what he was trying to do, and settled against him, their legs entwining as he draped the blanket over them.

“Night, Din,” she whispered against his chest.

“Night, Omera,” he replied.


	10. How to get distracted in a coffee shop

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Less dinstrospection, and more fun in this chapter!
> 
> Also, a friend of mine created a Mandomera Discord server. So if you feel like discussing all things Mandomera (and more), feel free to [join](https://discord.gg/WKdHQqBshH)!

Din wasn’t sure what woke him first. Was it the pale light coming from the window behind him? An unusual noise outside? The weird angle of his neck? The faint smell of cinnamon and tangerine in the air? Or, much more likely, the warm weight on his chest that breathed in and out at the same time as him?

He opened his eyes and shifted slightly, the shape following his movements instinctively. A slow and quiet dance to the tune of two heartbeats in synch.

Gradually, he started registering where each point of contact lay. They’d both shifted to their sides during the night, and now only her head rested on his shoulder, her right arm slung over his waist while her left had curled up against his chest, her palm resting flatly against his heart. Their legs were a mess of intertwined limbs under the blanket. Din moved slightly again and she followed suit. The sofa wasn’t that small, yet she’d burrowed against him, probably for warmth, and his left arm held her securely, as if he was afraid she would somehow fall.

Din sighed and closed his eyes again – they didn’t need to move for now. He could enjoy this for a while longer as she was still asleep. He was still half in dreamland himself and unconcerned at the moment about any awkwardness that would surely arise later. So he pulled her infinitely closer, her right hand tightened against his back for an instant then was still again.

The next time he woke up, the pale light outside had grown in intensity – he could no longer pretend it wasn’t morning yet. The sun was rising, and with it reality. Although it seemed Omera had something to say about that as she was currently pressing small, barely there kisses along the line of his throat. Din opened his eyes and regretted not being more awake, although he was getting there fast.

“Hmm,” he mumbled when a kiss proved particularly ticklish.

“He’s alive,” she whispered back, in a tone that told him she’d been conscious for a while.

He grumbled and shifted against the cushions. Omera settled more of her weight against him, which granted her better access to exposed skin.

“You fell asleep,” she complained, her cold nose pressed to his chin. It took Din a few seconds to realize she meant last night.

“You fell asleep too,” he replied, voice raspy, hands settling idly on her back as she used his shoulders to pull herself up his body so that her face was now right above his. That particular motion was definitely helping with the waking up part.

“You weren’t supposed to fall asleep,” she reminded him as her fingers threaded through his hair.

“I’m awake now,” Din retorted, lifting his head from the armrest to close the distance separating their lips.

She seemed to agree with that statement as she immediately deepened the kiss. The touch of her tongue on his bottom lip punishing him with the certainty that he’d probably have regrets for days to come. Still, he knew how to make every second count. The fact that his brain was only slowly catching up with the rest of his body in its half-awake state was an advantage for once – there was no overthinking the situation. His hands slid along her back and reached the bottom of her shirt then repeated the journey, more slowly, and against her warm skin.

Omera hummed against his lips and cupped his jaw, smooth hands over fuzzy cheeks. She shifted against him and he bit back a groan this time. Pleased with his reaction, she did it again. He broke their kiss to drag his teeth over her chin, then zeroed in on her pulse point, tempted to leave a mark as payback.

And just as his hands ventured lower and he was starting to think that maybe, just maybe, succumbing to sleep the previous night hadn’t been such a bad move, reality came crashing back.

A muted but still very noticeable whine coming from the kids’ bedroom. They both froze and listened intently – sometimes, Hadi fell right back to sleep in the morning. He’d complain softly for a minute, find his pacifier or plushie again, turn on his other side, and could sleep for another hour.

But obviously not today: his cries grew loud and insistent.

Din grumbled as his head hit the armrest and Omera hid her face against his neck to laugh quietly.

“Welcome to parenthood I guess,” she mumbled as they were both trying to get their breath back.

“I have to go get him before he wakes Winta,” he realized and he felt her nod. She wasn’t budging from her spot on top of him, though. Apparently content to lay there until he made the first move. Din sighed and couldn’t prevent his fingers from tracing the curve of her spine one last time.

“You’re making this harder on yourself,” she whispered directly in his ear then finally stood up. But not before pressing against him to make sure he’d understood her meaning. As if she could have made it any clearer.

“That was mean,” he muttered as he planted his feet on the floor and decided to forego his shoes as Hadi was clearly calling his name now.

“Next time don’t fall asleep,” she said, and he rolled his eyes, walking to the other side of the apartment to get to the teary toddler.

He pushed the door slowly and Hadi stopped crying when he saw him appear. He seemed frightened and Din realized it was the first time he woke up in this room. Which explained why he gripped his neck tightly when he picked him up, whispering meaningless, reassuring words in his ear. Hadi babbled in reply, Alba clutched between them, as he made his way to the bathroom to change him. Winta had apparently still been asleep, but he’d spare her any more noise. He always had extra clothes and diapers for the boy in his backpack, as well as a bottle, snacks, wet-wipes, pacifiers and toys. It was a good thing that he’d stopped lugging his laptop around, because caring for a toddler was proving quite taxing for his back already.

“I made coffee,” said Omera when he arrived in the kitchen to warm up some milk for Hadi’s bottle.

“Thank you,” he said immediately.

“You can have an espresso later when you come downstairs for brunch, for now it’s just the French press.”

“It’s perfect,” he smiled, and she put down her cup to press a kiss to his cheek then to Hadi’s, who was still waking up and grumbled slightly.

“I need to get ready,” she sighed, her disappointment at having to leave them clear, and he tried not to let himself be distracted by the sound of the shower starting as the milk reached boiling point in the pot.

“So it’s koala mode this morning,” he noted, as Hadi was refusing to let go of his neck. He wasn’t crying so that was a plus, but waking up in an unexpected environment meant he’d probably be fussy for a while. He didn’t even want his bottle at first, but he finally managed to persuade him after they’d been sitting on the couch in silence for a few minutes. Din hadn’t spent much time in Omera’s apartment, and he let his eyes roam over her knick-knacks and crammed bookcases. The old sewing machine in the corner. Winta’s drawings sharing space on the walls with a few paintings in warm colors. Her place was lived in and it showed. He thought about all the stuff that was still in his car and that he hadn’t bothered unpacking. The things he had been unable to part with. Some dating back to his childhood here. He might have come full circle, but he still hadn’t been able to find his own space anywhere. Looking at Hadi now, one hand gripping his bottle and the other a few fingers of his left hand, refusing to break contact, he knew the little boy deserved such a place. A _home_.

“You forgot your coffee,” Omera interrupted his musings, standing behind the sofa and handing him a cup. She was dressed impeccably, hair tied in its usual long braid and ready for her day. He was still half asleep and probably looked like a slob.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, accepting her offering gladly and taking a sip.

“Winta might sleep for a while yet,” she told him, hands brushing back his hair. “You’re welcome to come downstairs any time, we should be open in half an hour.”

“Hmm,” he replied, enjoying her touch. “I should call Paz to see if I can meet him at the school later today.”

“For a swim?” she guessed, and he nodded, her short nails gently pressing against his scalp.

“Stop messing up my hair,” he complained mock seriously.

“It’s already a mess,” she informed him before pressing a lingering kiss just above his ear. Din wanted to pull her towards him but both his hands were occupied.

“I wish I could stay here with you two,” she lamented, reading his thoughts. Din wished for a lot of things, too. But he’d settle for the knowledge that he wasn’t the only one who wanted more. She ruffled Hadi’s hair, earning herself another grumble that made her smile, then she was gone.

* * *

Din was distracted. And being distracted in the pool was bad. Sure, his breathing and the movement of his arms and legs didn’t require much focus, swimming was second nature, but he had lost track of his number of laps. Was it 52? he wondered as he pushed against the end of the pool with his feet, completing another flip turn. Or maybe 53? He regretted now not having followed Paz’s advice and set-up his watch to do the counting for him. It wasn’t that he wanted to know if he was making any progress, no. But he knew 60 laps was about 45 minutes, which was about the time he felt comfortable leaving Hadi with Paz unsupervised.

His mind kept returning to last night and this morning. Last night and all he had admitted to Omera. This morning and what had almost happened. Then joining her downstairs for brunch once Winta was awake. He’d been careful to walk around the block and arrive in Sorgan by the normal entrance, refusing to use the connecting door like her daughter, not wanting to assume she would be okay with that and the potential gossip it would generate in front of the other clients. And yet the kiss she’d given him before he left had been anything but discreet. Clearly she didn’t care about gossip. Or if she did, then she didn’t mind people knowing they were –

_*Bonk*_

Something had just connected with his head and he stopped swimming to look up.

“Finally!” yelled Paz, holding a pull-buoy in his hand, Hadi perched on his shoulders as usual. Din realized the other pull-buoy floating next to him was what he’d just thrown at him.

“What?” he complained, knowing he’d have to find his rhythm again.

“You’ve done 4 extra laps already, it’s gonna mess up your stats if you carry on.”

“What stats?” he asked in a sigh, pushing his goggles up on his forehead – it didn’t look like he was going to be able to swim anymore today.

“Sorry coach,” came a voice from the other side of the pool, by the bleachers. “Last two sessions were great, but his times have been irregular today, don’t know why.”

Din did a double-take when he realized that there were two teenage girls there. He’d never seen them before. The pool was always empty. One was holding a clipboard and the other a stopwatch. His last two sessions? What the hell was going on? Was Paz selling tickets or something?

“Paz, what’s…” but he was now busy discussing something with the two girls and looking at what they had written on the clipboard.

“I think I know why he’s been so distracted,” he said, turning towards him again and waggling his eyebrows. Din didn’t even know where to start. Everything about this was _wrong_. And yet completely the kind of thing Paz would do.

“Are you going to stay in the pool all day?” his friend wondered, arms akimbo. Din wanted to get out of the pool, yes. And have a few words with Paz. Preferably while Hadi was busy doing something else. But the two teenagers were not moving, and looking at him expectantly. Din suddenly felt like staying in the pool. It was ridiculous, he knew, but he didn’t like the looks the girls were giving him. How old were they, 17?

“Baba!” beckoned Hadi from his perch, and Din knew his stubbornness wouldn’t work for long, so he swam to the nearest side and got out, doing his best to ignore the utterly inappropriate looks the teens were throwing his way as he walked towards his towel. He’d be sure to bring a bathrobe next time. Or better yet, swim in a wetsuit. He tied the towel around his waist, grabbed his backpack and joined Paz, who was waiting for him patiently, his amusement hard to miss.

_The girls were still there._

“Do you still need us next week, coach?” asked the girl on the left.

“I think we’re done for now, thank you for your help, though,” replied Paz.

“Shame,” whispered the girl on the right, still loud enough for Din to hear. Would it be weird if he put on his jacket? Maybe he could shower home instead for once.

“But you’ll get the extra credits, don’t worry,” said Paz.

“Extra credits?” Din couldn’t help but utter, offended. That was taking things too far, and yet his friend’s only reply was to shrug, unconcerned.

“There are worse ways to earn extra credits,” the girl on the left muttered.

“ _Much_ worse,” confirmed the one on the right, her lingering gaze still making him wildly uncomfortable.

He breathed a sigh of relief when they eventually left and Paz laughed. If Hadi hadn’t been sitting on his shoulders, he’d have found a way to push him in the pool.

“So maybe next time you’ll use that stupid watch of yours,” the big man said, and Din silently made his way towards the showers, refusing to take the bait as it would mean using words in front of Hadi the toddler didn’t need to learn just yet.

Hadi requested his arms when he rejoined them, and that helped with his annoyance, but only slightly. He was formulating the reply he had rehearsed in the shower as they were making their way to Paz’s office when someone suddenly appeared at the end of the corridor. Din was angry, yes. But this woman was _furious_.

“Vizsla!” she hissed as she approached them, her face almost as red as her hair, ice blue eyes dissecting him for a second before turning towards Paz.

“Kryze,” replied Paz, standing still. He was trying to sound detached, but Din knew better – she was scaring him too. Hadi cooed in distress, sensing danger, and hid his face against his neck. Unfortunately, there was no place for Din to hide, but the woman’s anger seemed to be only directed at his friend, so he had no qualms about taking a couple of steps back – Paz’s problem, not his.

“Care to tell me _why_ I had to learn from the principal that you had requested to use the field for football practise as early as April next year?”

“I’m recruiting more staff, we need the extra time to prepare,” he explained.

The woman was probably a whole foot smaller than Paz, and yet she held her ground, chin jutting forward. Din could only admire her fearlessness.

“More staff?” she uttered, arching an elegant eyebrow. “And the principal agreed to that?”

“She did,” confirmed Paz.

“Of course she did!” the redhead seethed. “Why would she refuse _anything_ to the football team. You’re her _favorite_. What does it matter if the girls’ soccer team _actually_ made the playoff this year? What does it matter if we _almost_ won State?”

“Congrats on that, by the – ”

“Save it! I’m through with you, Vizsla, I’m going straight to the board with this, I warned you last time.”

And before Paz had time to reply, she was gone, leaving them in a tensed mood. Up until Hadi decided to break the silence.

“Boom Paz,” he uttered in his clear, lilting voice, and Din tried very hard not to laugh as his friend let out an irritated groan.

Din got to learn everything about this Bo-Katan Kryze once they relocated to his office. Hadi was busy playing in the small corner Paz had made for him – which was really sweet – as it was clear his friend had a lot to say about this woman and they would be there for a while.

She’d been one year above Paz in high school, which explained why Din had no memory of her. Evidently, it was a different story for Paz, and Din didn’t have to wonder as to why long: her father had somehow been involved in whatever mess had sent his own dad to prison. There was bad blood and old rancor between them, and now she was coaching the girls’ soccer team and he was coaching the boys’ football team. Paz then went on and on about all their petty squabbles and disagreements over the years, how she would frequently go to the principal or the board behind his back with her complaints, and how it was ruining the work environment during their staff meetings (on top of other things, obviously, but this seemed to be the most annoying consequence according to his friend). Din should have stopped listening 5 minutes in, but he was fascinated. There was someone on this Earth capable of putting Paz in such a state. She was a _marvel_ , and he couldn’t wait to meet her again.

He also realized something else, when his friend completely forgot about teasing him or asking him more pointed questions about the previous night. Questions he had managed to avoid earlier once he figured out there had never been any meeting he needed to attend – he’d pretended to be busy so that he could spend time with Omera on his own. And now he wouldn’t even try to get him to talk and admit that nothing had happened? He preferred to yammer on about this feisty coach?

“You like her, don’t you?” he surmised, interrupting Paz’s impassioned speech. He was enjoying the idea more and more, especially as his question completely threw the bigger man.

“Are you out of your _fucking_ mind?” he bellowed, and he tried not to feel too bad about the word he’d used in Hadi’s presence – after all, it wasn’t every day that Paz was reduced to this. And all because of a girl. Karma was a bitch, after all. This, he kept to himself.

* * *

By Wednesday, it had stopped snowing heavily, but he’d promised Peli he’d clear the driveway, which was what Omera found him doing when she came by after lunch. It was her day off, and he knew she often met with the other woman to discuss menus for Sorgan. He waved to her and she waved back, but he quickly refocused on his shovel as she was greeted by Peli at the door.

He was letting himself be distracted again.

All joking with Paz aside, he actually wished he’d been able to talk to him about the situation. He felt he’d been too earnest with Omera, that he’d said too much. Sure, nothing had happened, but he couldn’t help but wonder if he might have an easier time now if they’d both admitted weeks ago they had feelings for one another, acted on them, and maybe built a more simple relationship from there. Once they had cured that particular itch they didn’t necessarily need to revisit.

Instead, he found himself unable to forget her reaction when he’d confessed the reason that had led him to leave Nevarro two decades prior. She hadn’t looked at him any differently. She hadn’t pitied him or ignored him or rolled her eyes at him. She’d moved _closer_ to him. She hadn’t asked for more details and yet he’d been tempted to tell her everything here and there.

He wanted her, yes. Desperately. Wanted to spend more time with her. Talk to her. Laugh with her. Make love to her. Wake up next to her. Raise Hadi with her. Raise Winta with her. Build a home with her. Grow old with her.

Here, in Nevarro.

But he’d never wanted all those things before. He’d acted on his feelings in the past and the results had always been predictable – neither always good nor always bad, but always what he expected. And now he expected _more_ from his relationship with Omera, and he knew he probably shouldn’t. That it was dangerous. It wasn’t just him being scared of the unknown and wanting to protect himself. It was him realizing that they could be building something bigger than them. Something that wasn’t just him or just her or even just them. But something that included their children, too.

“Where’s Hadi?” Omera asked him, pulling him away from his inner ramblings. He’d somehow cleared the whole driveway and he hadn’t even realized it. He hoped she hadn’t been standing there for too long wondering what was wrong with him, but there was a smile playing on her face.

“Daycare,” he replied, his voice a bit scratchy after having spent so long outside. “They’ve been painting lately and he loves going.”

“That’s nice,” she agreed.

“Yeah, means I can do stuff he would have found boring today,” he shrugged, indicating the shovel he was still holding.

“That was your plan for today? Doing boring stuff only?” she wondered, hiding a smirk.

“What did you have in mind?” he asked, both dreading and anticipating her answer.

“Well, I’m trying out that judo class this evening in Mancos.”

“Sounds fun,” he replied, hoping he didn’t look too disappointed.

“But it’s not until six and Winta will be done with school by three. We usually try to do something together on Wednesdays since I’m not working,” she continued, unperturbed.

“Makes sense,” Din nodded, unclear where she was going with all this. But maybe she was just making conversation after all.

“You’re picking up Hadi at the daycare center at three as well, right?”

“Right,” he confirmed.

“And it’s a lot closer from my place than from yours,” she added, eyes rising towards the converted garage.

“Yeah, it’s right across the street.”

Omera looked at him intently and he was mystified. Was that conversation supposed to make any kind of sense? Had he missed something she had said because he was still lost in thought?

“It’s just past one,” Omera sighed.

“It is,” he confirmed, looking at his watch.

“That gives us more than an hour, almost two if we hurry up and take my car and leave right now.”

“Leave to go where?”

“To my place.”

And Din had a pretty good idea where this was going because Omera looked as though she was about to dunk his head in a snow drift in exasperation. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t pretend for a little longer.

“I get it, you want to show me how to make an espresso again,” he said, trying and probably failing to sound serious.

“Oh don’t worry,” she replied, walking towards her car and expecting him to follow. “I’ll be showing you how to make an espresso again as soon as we arrive. Because you are going to drink about four of them to make sure you don’t fall asleep this time.”

Din rolled his eyes behind her back – but she did have a point.


	11. How to replace coffee in a coffee shop

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Din and Omera finally have some alone time! And we get a glimpse of Omera's past.  
> Thanks again for all your kinds words and encouragements. :)

“It’s 1:22,” Din announced when they walked into the empty coffee shop, looking at his watch.

“Great, are you – ” but Omera didn’t have the chance to ask him if he was going to inform her of the time every few minutes because he started kissing her as soon as the door was closed. Omera’s fingers immediately curled around the back of his neck, holding onto him as their lips met. She’d been worried of coming on too strong earlier when she decided to bring him home with her, but it seemed he didn’t mind. Not one bit.

“1:28,” he mumbled against her neck later, and it took her a second this time to understand what he meant. His lips were pressed to her pulse point, his hands under her shirt, as she was sat on the counter by her prized Nuova Simonelli espresso machine. They hadn’t _quite_ moved to the making the coffee part, but other than that she thought they were progressing well.

“1:36,” the words uttered between her breasts, as they had both come to the conclusion that they didn’t need the caffeine after all and had relocated upstairs and to her bed. Omera raked her fingers through his unruly hair, breath coming in short gasps.

“Are you timing us or something?” she gritted out as he lavished attention to her chest.

“Maybe I should,” he replied, his deep voice sending ripples all the way to her toes.

“You think Paz will want a report?” she laughed as his thumbs tickled her sides. Omera pulled at his hair and he got the message, rising above her to meet her lips again.

“Probably,” he sighed as she peppered his throat and jaw with kisses. “I’m sure he could have someone working on our stats for extra credits.”

“What?” she snorted, as one of his hands ventured down again, trying to distract her. But he’d gotten her curious now. “What are you talking about?” Omera pushed, scratching his scalp with her short nails to get his attention. Din ducked his head down, pressing his forehead to hers and brushing his nose to her cheek with affection, making her forget about her question for a while.

“Din…” she grumbled mock seriously, shoving her hands in the back pockets of his jeans and pulling him closer. This eventually did the trick as he swallowed hard and sat back on his haunches to remove his T-shirt. His sweater was somewhere in the vicinity of her bra, probably in the living room.

“When I was at the pool on Sunday,” he started, hair wonderfully mussed already. “I discovered he had those two girls timing my laps. They’d apparently been at it for a few weeks already.”

“Girls?” she queried, deciding it was her turn to enjoy this newly exposed skin as she pushed against his shoulders and climbed into his lap.

“Teenage girls, and they were terrifying,” he confirmed as her hands came to rest on his shoulders then slid on his warm skin to meet at the hollow of his throat. She leaned down and pressed a quick kiss on the spot, marking it for later – it was a very nice spot.

“What did they do to you to be so terrifying?” she wondered, rising up again and getting comfortable on top of him. Pupils dilated black with want, he settled her more firmly on his lap, his fingers digging into her denim covered hips.

“The looks they gave me,” Din replied haltingly, as Omera let her eyes roam over his chest, her fingers lingering on other spots she wanted to explore later. She reached his belly-button and the top of his jeans, muscles rippling and tensing under her hands, but she wasn’t done with her questions yet.

“How would you describe those looks?” she asked with a teasing smile, his grip over her tightening as she rocked against him. One of his hands travelled up her bare back to cradle her neck and she leaned down, chest pressed to his.

“Predatory,” he breathed against her lips, crashing her mouth to his. When she started rubbing against him again he broke away from the kiss, a low groan escaping him. One that told her the time for talking was over.

“What time is it?” she mumbled later, after he’d all but collapsed half on top of her with a whispered apology. Omera hadn’t cared and she was still stroking the back of his head. His hair would curl when it was sweaty and she thought it was adorable. She nudged said curls with her chin, humming slightly, as she didn’t have the energy to repeat herself just yet. She wanted to enjoy the afterglow for a little while longer and wondered if he had done the unthinkable and fallen asleep. But she witnessed movement when he slowly dragged his left arm up and looked at his watch, grumbling unintelligible words when the dial came into view.

“Does it say you’ve broken a record or something?” she wondered with a languid smile and felt his answering grin against her shoulder.

“Sadly, no, but it does say we don’t have to move just yet,” he replied quietly, pressing an absent kiss on her skin.

“We still have to track down all our clothes,” she reminded him, fingers carding through his shaggy hair.

“Hmm,” he agreed, enjoying her touch.

“Kinda bummed out you weren’t wearing those Batman underwear.”

“They’re just my sleep boxers,” Din sighed, settling infinitely closer to her, which told her he might be a big cuddler but didn’t want to admit it.

“Don’t forget to bring them tonight, then,” she said, letting her eyes close. They could have a few more minutes, he’d just said so. But Din raised his head from her shoulder and her hand slipped from his hair.

“Tonight?” he uttered, surprised.

“Unless you had plans with Paz or something?” she frowned. Was she being too forward again? Surely they were past it.

“No,” he replied, suddenly very much awake. “But I just thought…” and there he stopped, hanging his head down, not finding the right words.

“What, that I’d kick you out of my bed after the first time? You weren’t _that_ bad,” Omera joked. But when he showed no reaction, she wondered if she had gone too far – some men were quite sensitive about that topic and she pushed herself up to sit against the headboard and observe him better. She cradled his face in her palms and brushed her thumbs over his cheeks. He leaned into her touch and she realized that no, he wasn’t worrying about her thinking he hadn’t been up to the challenge or such inanity. It was something else. Something she failed to understand at the moment but damn her if she wouldn’t figure it out.

“I thought we could all go play in the snow once Winta was back from school and you picked up Hadi. Then I’m going to that judo class later but I want to spend the evening with all three of you,” she told him earnestly, looking straight into his eyes. “And afterwards I want you in my bed in those boxers and we’ll see what happens if we manage to stay awake for a bit,” she continued, his warm brown eyes incapable of hiding the fact that he wanted that, too.

“Okay,” he agreed with a small smile.

“Okay,” she repeated, leaning in to claim his mouth with a greedy kiss.

Din only turned up a few minutes late to collect Hadi.

* * *

Omera was pretty sure she’d continue to go to those judo classes as she’d enjoyed herself. But given the time she’d spent playing in the snow outside with Din and the kids in addition to using rather neglected muscles earlier, she was convinced she’d be the one falling asleep prematurely that night.

When she’d left her apartment, Winta had managed to ambush Din into helping her out with her homework while Hadi colored a dragon she had just drawn for him. Din had looked up just before she closed the door behind them, his eyes questioning whether she didn’t mind his presence and she would have called him ridiculous if she wasn’t already running late. Instead, she smiled, and Winta yelled a distracted ‘Bye!’ at her.

She found them in calm spirits, Din attempting to convince a pajama-clad Hadi that the carrots he was feeding him were very yummy indeed while Winta was setting the rest of the table for the three of them.

“Mom! We made mac and cheese! And mashed carrots!” announced her bouncy daughter, making her reexamine her assessment that things had been quiet in her absence. Hopefully, the children hadn’t been too much for Din to handle on his own, but he still seemed patient enough with the little boy, who had cleared his plate of macaroni but had more trouble with his vegetables.

“Is it okay if I take a quick shower before we eat?” she asked, feeling a bit guilty for not having suggested earlier that she’d get some take-out on the way back from Mancos.

“Of course,” he replied, grinning at his success for having convinced Hadi to have one more spoonful.

Omera rushed back to them after her shower, feeling more energized, and sat at the table at her daughter’s urging.

“I helped with the dinner,” she told her very seriously, and Omera nodded.

“Sorry, it’s not very elaborate,” apologized Din as he was serving her a plate. Hadi was done with his own meal but was still sitting in the high chair she assumed Din had dragged from downstairs, playing with plastic dinosaurs she remembered used to belong to Winta.

“Are you kidding me?” she huffed. “It’s great! Thank you so much for cooking something, you didn’t have to.”

He hummed something in reply she didn’t catch and soon her daughter filled the silence with all the things that they had done in her absence. Omera didn’t follow everything as she was busy eating and observing Hadi and Din. She tried not to focus too much on how domestic and natural this all felt – sharing a meal he had cooked at her kitchen table, Winta chattering happily while the little boy requested more macaroni from his father’s plate and he complied with a sigh. Omera knew it was going to hurt like hell when they left Nevarro, but she’d decided weeks ago already that she didn’t want any regrets. Sure, it would have probably been easier in the long run if she’d simply decided they should limit themselves to friendship. But she’d have missed all of this. And the realization that as much as she valued her independence and the fact that she could perfectly take care of her daughter on her own, sharing her life with someone else could make it even more worthwhile.

“…that way I should be able to join the team in high school,” finished Winta breathlessly.

“The team?” Omera asked, wishing she’d paid more attention now.

“Yeah, Din convinced me I should try for the girls’ soccer team at school. If I get in now I might be able to join the Mandalorians in high school, they’re really good, they almost won State.”

“Their coach is amazing,” confirmed Din, barely hiding a smirk, and she wondered what she was missing there.

“You want to play soccer?” she asked her daughter, who’d hinted at wanting to do more sports but never a specific one.

“I think I’d like being part of a team,” Winta hedged. “And Din said I was ‘agile and coordinated’ when we were throwing snowballs outside this afternoon.”

“Did he really say that?” she grinned and he shrugged when she looked towards him. Those were definitely words he would use, and they had made an impression on her daughter.

“I won’t try for the team until next year, but that gives me enough time to get ready, he said he’d teach me some clever tricks,” she announced, and Omera hoped Din hadn’t made any promise he wouldn’t be able to keep, but he seemed quite determined.

“As long as that’s what you want,” she reminded the girl, but she kept on talking about soccer for the rest of the meal, then again later when she wished her goodnight in bed, Hadi already sleeping like a rock in the lower bunk.

“You said it would be good for me to find something to do after school,” Winta recalled.

“I did,” confirmed Omera, tucking her in even if she was a bit old for that already.

“And that I was ‘rambunctious’ and that sports might be something I’d enjoy.”

“I remember,” she assured her, and it was true enough. But she hadn’t expected an afternoon with Din would lead to that. Although she’d also been spending more time with Paz lately. Surely this was a good thing? Winta would thrive in a team, she knew it. She just hadn’t thought she’d be so easy to convince.

“And Din said his best memories from high school was the football team, and he really seemed to have fun. Can you imagine if I’m in the soccer team and we win State?” she continued excitedly, telling her it would take a while for her to fall asleep.

“Din told you about high school?” she marveled.

“Yes, when he and Paz were kids, that was funny.”

“I bet,” Omera replied, happy that he had opened up to her a bit. “Now try to get some sleep,” she admonished, pressing a kiss against her forehead.

“You’re hired,” she announced as she joined Din in the living room afterwards. “Where do I sign?”

“Hired for what?” he wondered in confusion, doing the dishes of all things – because of course he would be doing that.

“I thought you were looking for a job. And I wouldn’t mind coming home every night to a home-cooked meal and a daughter who’s finished her homework.”

“So I’d be the nanny?” Din asked with a smirk.

“Nanny, house husband, take your pick,” Omera replied as she sat down comfortably on the couch. She hid her smile when she heard a few plates clatter in the sink as her words registered. “Dishes can wait until tomorrow,” she beckoned through the open French doors separating the kitchen and the living room. Din hesitated, but he eventually joined her, sitting against the opposite armrest.

“Hey,” she said, bumping his leg with her foot. He toed off his shoes and copied her posture, his own feet joining hers in the middle cushion of the sofa.

“Hey,” he replied, playfully bumping her leg back.

“So, soccer then? What’s that all about?” she asked with a smile.

“It was just an idea,” he replied, shoulders lowering with a slow exhale. “I didn’t think she’d grab onto it so quickly, I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry, it’s a great idea,” Omera proclaimed. “I wish she was as receptive with me.”

“I don’t want you to think I’m pushing her or – ”

“I’m not,” she interrupted him. “I’m glad you managed to share that with her, she’s absolutely thrilled at the prospect of potentially being part of a team, I hope she makes it.”

“She will,” he replied with conviction, reminding her that even though he rarely talked about it, he hadn’t spent twenty years in the military twiddling his thumbs. He knew how to motivate people and recognize skill.

“And she’s not the kind of kid who decides to try something but never sticks to it in the long run and grows bored. When she says she wants something she means it,” she assured, feeling she needed to defend her for some reason.

“I can tell,” he nodded with a small grin. “Wonder where she got that from.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Omera replied innocently and she was tempted to give him a kiss but held herself back. She wouldn’t take the first step this time – she could still remember his reaction earlier at her invitation to spend the night, and she didn’t want to come off as too eager. Let him go at his own pace for once. Not wanting any regrets was one thing. But she’d gain nothing by scaring him off.

“How old was she when her father died?” Din asked tentatively, his eyes showing how much he’d hesitated voicing that question.

“She was six,” she answered simply. The subject wasn’t one she broached often, but it didn’t hurt anymore. Not really. And it was a fair question after everything he had shared with her already.

“But she didn’t see him much, he wasn’t…” she started but had to stop herself. No, she needed to be objective. She owed him that much. And it didn’t make sense for her to start there. Din wasn’t pushing her, merely waiting to see if she would say more. Omera looked at their legs on the cushion. His bent at the knees and hers stretched out. She crossed her ankles behind his feet for warmth and he didn’t protest.

“You know I worked as a paralegal,” she tried again, feeling more centered.

“In Albuquerque at a firm with Fennec,” Din remembered.

“Right, there were many lawyers working at that firm, including Fennec, and my husband, who I met there. Fennec and him met in college and they’d been friends for years. I was the new girl at her first serious job after university and they took me under their wing. We became close despite the age gap.”

“Age gap?” he frowned.

“How old do you think Fennec is?” she asked with a smirk – that was always fun.

“Is that a trick question?” he grumbled.

“Come on, guess,” Omera pressed.

“A few years older than you?” Din tried, grimacing.

“She’s actually almost twenty years older than me.”

“You’re kidding,” he uttered, eyes widening, then quickly realized something else and panicked. “Wait, how old are you?”

“Relax,” she smiled, pushing against his legs. “I know Paz’s age and that he is a year older than you, so I’m only three years younger than you.”

“How did you learn Paz’s age?” he wondered, enjoying the tangent.

“Loyalty card for Sorgan.”

“There’s a loyalty card for Sorgan? Where’s mine?” he complained.

“You already get free coffee.”

“You have a point,” Din conceded. “So let me do the math, Fennec is… No, she can’t be 50, you’re making this up.”

“She’s 52,” she confirmed as he was shaking his head in denial.

“What’s her secret?”

“The tears of gratitude of all her clients and very bad taste in men. And women.”

Din chuckled and they stayed silent for a while, her eyes now lingering on his hand resting on the back of the couch. She’d be able to touch it if she stretched her arm out but she wouldn’t, she’d resist. And she needed to get on with her story.

“I still can’t believe Fennec is 52…” he marveled.

“Same age as my husband would be today,” she sighed. Their age difference hadn’t been as startling when they started seeing each other. But it had always been at the back of her mind – the likelihood he’d die before her. She hadn’t expected it would come so soon, though.

“He was a workaholic, same as Fennec, although she’s cut down a bit, now. His death scared her. I was just as passionate about the law then, and I did intend to work my way up the firm, study more to become a lawyer. Then I got pregnant and I thought…” she took in a deep breath. “It hurts to think about it now – the idea that Winta might not be here. But we did discuss it, you know,” Omera shrugged.

“You both decided you wanted the baby.”

“Yeah, and I didn’t think 24 was _that_ young. But clearly, I was still very naïve, because I thought he’d change and work less.”

“I don’t think expecting the best of people is being naïve,” Din asserted, and his kind words made her feel a little better.

“Just a bit too trusting, then.”

“Maybe,” he conceded.

“Still, he wanted to do the ‘right thing’ and we got married,” she exhaled. “The fact that we almost exclusively saw each other at the workplace probably helped. It didn’t give us the opportunity to realize that we weren’t really matched since we were never home. But at least we worked great together and I’m proud of what we accomplished. I was so certain we’d manage to find the right balance once the baby was born that I didn’t anticipate for a second that the firm would become the last thing on my mind when Winta came along.”

She paused, remembering the feeling of having that tiny bundle pressed to her arms and being terrified.

“This new life depended on me and everything else disappeared. I just wanted to be a mom for a while,” Omera continued.

“Nothing wrong with that,” Din remarked.

“It just seems so silly in retrospect,” she laughed mirthlessly. “That I would be ready to go back to work as soon as humanly possible and feel no guilt whatsoever at handing my baby off to a nanny.”

“How did your husband react?” he wondered.

“He didn’t resent me or Winta, I don’t think so anyway. He really loved her and was great with her. But I think he was a bit disappointed in me. He expected me to be _above_ such domestic considerations. Taking care of children was a job for someone else. His was the Law, with a capital L. He took it very seriously.”

“I’m sorry,” he said sincerely and his words made her realize how much having Hadi in his life had also changed him. She’d be ready to bet he’d been quite the hardworker himself before the little boy came along. And she probably wouldn’t have fallen as hard for him if she’d met him then – if at all. _Well_ , she amended, surely a little, he was very handsome after all.

“I did get back to work eventually but on a lighter schedule, and he just started working more and more. I could tell his attitude towards me bothered Fennec and it created friction between them. I didn’t want to embitter the situation at the firm so I was doing most of my work at the coffee shop by the court house.”

“The one with the waffles,” he recalled.

“That one,” she smiled. “It became my second home. Away from all the drama. Then things got better for a while and I thought it could work. But anytime he landed a new case at the firm we were back to square one – we barely saw him at home with Winta and he’d find excuses to avoid me at work. It only made me want to pull away completely. This life wasn’t fair on any of us. I was also starting to realize that the law might be interesting but it wasn’t really my thing. I’d spend more time observing the baristas at the café and dreaming about opening my own place than preparing my notes.”

Omera paused there because they were getting to the sad part. But she couldn’t look at Din’s face. Because she knew she’d only read kindness and acceptance in his eyes and she’d be too tempted to either burst into tears or crawl into his lap. And then his hand was gripping hers and pulling her towards him and she realized she was being stupid – of course he knew this was a difficult subject to talk about. And of course she could count on him to be there for her right now.

“You know what you said about regretting the last words you ever spoke to your parents?” she asked him after they had spent time enjoying the silence, her side pressed to his chest and her head resting on his shoulder.

“Yeah?” he pushed gently, the word resounding against her ear.

“My last words to him were also a lie,” she whispered. Even if she knew Winta was asleep, it wasn’t the kind of thing she wanted her daughter to hear. “But I kept thinking that we would have more time, that somehow we would make it work. So when he was around and spending time with us I’d pretend everything was fine.”

“For Winta,” he guessed, voice equally soft.

“For Winta,” she confirmed, closing her eyes and letting herself enjoy the simple sensation of being held for a while.

“What happened to him?” Din pried, his right thumb drawing small circles low on her back.

“Well, he was pushing 50. Overworked and overstressed. Not enough sleep, not enough exercise, not enough healthy food… He collapsed one afternoon. In court in the middle of a trial. Heart attack,” Omera relayed, her words coming in short bursts.

“I’m so sorry,” he replied simply and she shrugged.

“Fennec was devastated because she felt guilty. Thinking she’d pushed him too hard. But I just remained numb for a long time. I should have told her immediately she shouldn’t blame herself but instead I just went through the motions.”

Din’s arms held her a little tighter and she guessed he knew that state well.

“I was so out of it I was even contemplating going back to work full time, just to stay busy and focus on something I knew. But then the insurance money came in and I realized I didn’t need to work another day of my life if I wanted to. And that scared the _hell_ out of me. I might have been his wife but I didn’t feel entitled to that money, so I put it all aside for Winta.”

Omera took another break but felt more energized now that she was done with that part of the story. She inhaled deeply and found reassurance in the familiar smell of Din’s clothes. The baby laundry detergent he used.

“And I had a long think. And decided we needed to start again somewhere else. I sold our house in Albuquerque and bought this place. It wasn’t a success overnight and I was making a lot of shitty coffee at first, but the people here have been lovely and helped me a lot. Peli especially. Sorgan really took off once I started serving her food. And now we’re doing pretty decently and I’m still enjoying making coffee – better coffee – five years later.”

“Why here in Nevarro?” he asked, the question clearly one he’d wanted answered for a while.

“We went to stay with my family in Gallup after I sold the house. And one day we just decided to drive up north on the 491 with Winta. Visited Mesa Verde National Park, and we stopped in Nevarro on the way back. I saw the building was for sale, right at the entrance of town, and I thought it would be the perfect spot for a coffee shop, that was it really.”

“Oh,” he uttered, surprised.

“You sound disappointed,” she replied, grinning slightly.

“Guess I expected something a bit more dramatic, yes.”

“Like throwing a dart on a map randomly and deciding to go where it landed,” she joked.

“Something like that,” he admitted, deep voice rumbling with a laugh.

Omera exhaled as his prickly chin tickled the top of her head. She wouldn’t mind going to bed right now, but there were still a few things she wanted to tell him.

“Part of me will always love him because he gave me Winta. And he was a good man and provided for us. But I think it made me realize how having a child can change you. I don’t think it’s only maternal instincts or biology or anything like that. I see it in the way you behave with Hadi as well.”

She felt him swallow hard at those words.

“Winta’s father was never like that with her,” she went on. “I knew he loved her but it was never…” and she stopped again because she didn’t want Din to think she resented her husband – she didn’t.

“I never expected my life would change as much, I can tell you that,” he huffed, and Omera sat up to be able to see his face, her hands idly resting on his chest.

“At first I told myself I’d only been looking for an excuse to leave the army, and adopting a kid certainly gave me that possibility. But I always thought we’d settle around somewhere, close to El Paso and the people I knew at Fort Bliss, I’d find another job and a nursery for the kid and my life wouldn’t be that different from before. But I was so wrong, and probably a bit naïve too, like you said.”

“Must have been a rude awakening,” she surmised, lips curling up in a smile.

“You bet. I started doubting everything. I thought I was doing a terrible job when he wouldn’t sleep or wouldn’t eat sometimes and I gradually realized I had to rethink my whole life and accept it. That’s why I left El Paso. We needed a fresh start.”

“A fresh start in Nevarro,” Omera tentatively said, and he nodded. She didn’t dare press him for more as she knew it would hurt too much to hear him say they still intended to leave. So she pushed against his shoulders and he got her meaning, leaning down more comfortably on the couch with her on top.

“Thank you for sharing all that with me,” he mumbled, hands softly running along the curve of her spine.

“Hmm,” she replied, feeling at peace. She wouldn’t mind falling asleep right there and then, but she’d been promised Batman boxers earlier. Surely she deserved to see them again after all this.

“Feels a bit like déjà vu, doesn’t it?” Din said, reading her thoughts.

“You mean you’re about to fall asleep like last time?”

“No,” he quickly denied. “I’m just saying, maybe we shouldn’t jinx it?”

And they both froze immediately to better listen in case Hadi chose that moment again to wake up. But everything was quiet. The children were asleep. Omera raised her head from his chest and he closed the distance between them, pressing his lips to hers and letting the kiss linger. Din hummed into her mouth and he pulled her even closer to him, cradling her body against his own as he suddenly pulled himself up against the cushions and stood up. Omera barely managed to prevent a yelp from escaping her – that had been an unexpected move.

“Nice,” she praised, now that the surprise had passed and she slung her arms around his neck.

“Right?” he cheekily replied, proud of himself.

“I make no promises about staying up, though. Early start tomorrow,” she whispered against his neck as they walked past the kids’ room – funny how natural it felt to call it that.

“That’s fine, sleep sounds good,” Din said, and Omera held on to him a little tighter. “And I did bring those boxers you requested.”

“Perfect,” she answered with a smile.

Too bad she didn’t let him keep them on for long.


	12. How to deal with the absence of coffee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Christmas time! In February, I know, sorry...
> 
> Some angsty reminiscing in this chapter but let the healing begin. Friends old and new make an appearance and Din starts to ask himself the right questions.

“Which boxes do you need?” asked Din from the top of the pull-down attic ladder.

“They should be in the back, marked ‘Christmas decorations’ or something obvious like that,” came Paz muffled answer from below.

Din sneezed (again) and tried to see what was written on the cardboard boxes closest to him. But it was difficult given how poor the light was – only a bare lightbulb at the top of the stairs – and he kept bumping his head on the low ceiling, which was why Paz had sent him there in the first place: there was barely enough room for him to crawl in there.

It was December the 23rd, and Christmas was almost upon them. Since Hadi and him were spending it in Nevarro – and it was the boy’s first such celebration – Paz had decided they should make an effort. He’d gotten a tree, but it was huge and looked silly without anything on it, so he’d convinced him to go up there while the toddler was taking a nap in the guest bedroom.

Din had surmised that Paz would usually have friends over on Christmas day for a small gathering and shared meal, but it remained informal and not really connected to the holiday. Like him, he no longer had any family in town and didn’t feel like making the journey to see distant relatives he barely tolerated. This year would be quiet, he told him. So Hadi and him were welcome to join them. Given that the only two other people he would have gladly celebrated with had left this morning, Paz’s call to come and help him had been a welcome distraction.

He wanted to believe that Omera and her daughter had been hesitant to leave Hadi and him behind, but Din knew they’d planned to visit family in Gallup for a while. Wishful thinking was not helpful right now. Not when he’d started feeling a little too confident and…lucky? Was that the right word? The last two weeks had certainly been something.

“Find anything?” yelled Paz, interrupting his thoughts.

“Give me a minute!” he replied, his eyes straining in the darkness.

He reached the end of the attic, crouching low, and found what he thought was the correct box. He dragged it back to the entrance to make use of the light, but found no markings on it. He opened it with an annoyed exhale. What he uncovered inside gave him pause. Swallowing hard and thinking he wasn’t seeing correctly at first, he took an item out, making sure. But he knew in his heart he wasn’t wrong.

“Paz, could you come up here?” Din asked flatly.

“What?” his friend grumbled. “Surely you can find a fucking – ”

“ _Please_ ,” he interrupted him, and Paz’s steps could soon be heard below, alerted by his tone.

“What’s wrong?” he wondered once he reached the top of the ladder and saw him bent over the cardboard box.

“Are those mine?” Din queried, holding a spaceship he remembered a little too well. “My Legos?”

Paz muttered a curse and sat down heavily on the dusty wooden floor. Din waited for him to say anything but he chose to remain uncharacteristically silent. The spaceships, the cosmic laser launcher set, the lunar base, the shuttle…they were all there. All preserved and in perfect condition, looking exactly like they had first on his bedroom floor then in his closet when he’d decided at 15 that he might be a bit old for Legos, but not old enough to get rid of them or worse – in his opinion – disassemble them.

“Paz…” he tried again.

“This guy was doing a yard sale,” Paz blurted out. “When I came back to Nevarro and you’d already left. By your old house.”

“Yeah I just…couldn’t deal with everything that needed to be sold,” Din admitted. “It was easier to have someone take care of that.”

“Didn’t you keep _anything_?” Paz asked.

“A few things,” he shrugged. “Pictures. Books. Some of my mom’s jewelry. My dad’s leather jacket.”

They were all safely stored in a case in his car. One day, when he finally settled somewhere and his Jeep stopped essentially being his home, he’d find a better spot for them.

“Oh yeah, I remember that jacket,” his friend laughed. “It looked cool.”

“I wore it for a bit in my twenties,” Din recalled. “But it became too tight across the shoulders, although I think he was taller than me.”

“You think?”

“I don’t remember,” he replied emptily. It was strange to think that he couldn’t be sure of something as simple as that – his father’s height. But he’d grown a few inches after his parents’ death and there had been no way to know.

“I’d say you’re about the same height now,” Paz stated, and it made him feel a little better knowing this, the memory hurting a little less.

“So you bought the Legos?” he asked, getting back to the subject at hand.

“And some of your comics, too. They’re in the garage, I still read them sometimes.”

“Really?” he marveled.

“Really I bought them, or really I’m still reading comics?”

“Both I guess,” Din smiled.

Paz shifted where he sat a few feet away from him. It was difficult to see his face with how dark the attic was, but maybe it was better this way.

“I really thought you were coming back. That you’d realize you made a mistake and feel stupid for selling those things.”

“Well, here I am,” Din deadpanned. “Only twenty years too late.”

“Here you are,” replied Paz, but there was no animosity in his voice. That surprised Din, who’d expected another dig at his expense. His friend seemed to have accepted his return for what it was. He’d stopped asking him when he was leaving, even. And it troubled him just as much as when Omera refused to broach the subject. Paz had understood he meant to stay, even if he wasn’t quite ready to say it. Omera preferred to ignore it completely, and he couldn’t make sense of it. It hurt too much to linger on those thoughts and the very real possibility that their relationship, whatever they wanted to call it, was so good because she thought it was temporary. Why hold back when you knew it wasn’t meant to last?

“Maybe Hadi will like playing with them,” Paz said, pulling him out of his thoughts once more.

“Bit of a choking hazard right now,” he noted, seeing how small some of the parts of the spaceship he was still holding were. “Maybe when he’s five or six, though? I can’t remember when I got my first Lego.”

“You could make a small fortune on eBay if you wanted to. Those late 1980’s Futuron and Blacktron sets are hard to find.”

“Feel free to sell them if you ever need the cash, they’re yours,” Din insisted, forcing himself to put the toy back in its box.

“I just told you – I bought them back for you.”

Din inhaled deeply, glad that Paz couldn’t see him well either in the half light. “Did you have a speech prepared and everything? Giving me back my Legos and comics and calling me an idiot or something like that?” he tried for levity.

“Something a bit stronger than idiot, yeah,” Paz guffawed.

Din nodded, having expected as much, and he let himself look at the colorful blocks once more and the memories they evoked. Long afternoons spent pretending to be a space explorer. His mother’s complaints at the tiny pieces lying around everywhere. How she would still painstakingly check the vacuum cleaner’s bag to make sure she wasn’t throwing any away.

“I thought I’d recognized some of the minifigures you were using to explain the rules of football to Winta,” he recalled, the memory of that Thanksgiving they’d spent together a fond one.

“If you remove the plastic visor of an astronaut’s helmet, it really looks like a football player,” Paz explained.

“True enough,” Din agreed. “You can keep those, Hadi won’t be able to play with them for a while anyway. I got him Duplos for Christmas, though. I hope he likes them.”

“That’s a good idea, I’m sure he will.”

“Thanks again for agreeing to do it here, it will be nice for him to have people around.”

“What’s the point of Christmas without kids?”

“Yeah,” Din acknowledged. “I hope you haven’t gone too crazy with the gifts,” he remarked, as Paz tended to go a bit overboard with the toddler.

“You’ll see,” he replied cryptically, and Din sighed.

“I’ll go look for those decorations,” he mumbled, closing the box containing the Legos, and whirled around.

“Where did you go?” asked Paz once his back was turned. Din stopped but didn’t try to see his face as there was no need – his tone spoke volumes. Funny how Omera had asked him _why_ he’d gone while Paz wanted to know _where_.

“I drove around for a bit. I didn’t have any destination in mind. It took a while for the money they had left for me and what I got for selling the house and furniture and whatever else to get to me,” he started explaining, facing the attic wall. He wasn’t sure why he’d started there. “I was eighteen but there was a bunch of legal matters to handle. And there were…various expenses to take care of.”

The funeral being one of them.

“I decided I didn’t need to stay here to wait for things to settle so I bought a decent car with the money I had, loaded it with what I wanted to keep, and left.”

“That Jeep Cherokee you still have?” Paz wondered behind him.

“Yeah,” he confirmed.

“It’s a good car,” he agreed quietly, and Din felt something inside him snap. He couldn’t keep it to himself any longer.

“I was supposed to be in the car. On that day. With them.”

“Oh, _fuck_ man…” came Paz’s slow exhale behind him. 

“They wanted to go see a film in Mancos,” he continued quickly, not giving him the time to say anything else. “But we had a fight and I refused to go with them in the end.”

There were some things he had told Omera - namely the angry words he’d yelled at his parents the last time he saw them – that he refused to say to Paz, as he had known them well. The fact that he was supposed to have been in the car with them on that day, this he had never shared with _anyone_ before. Din looked down at his hands and wondered if he should add anything else, given that Paz was silent.

“Maybe if I’d gone with them or offered to drive – ”

“Stop it, you can’t think like that,” Paz interrupted him forcefully, his voice telling him he’d moved closer to him in the attic.

But Din had _always_ thought like that. How could he not?

“What if – ”

“Stop!” yelled Paz, shaking his shoulder hard and forcing him to turn around. It wasn’t difficult to read his friend’s expression despite the lack of light. He was mad and Din felt silly for voicing his feelings out loud. It wasn’t something they did. Paz hadn’t needed to know what was going on in his head. But there again, the man managed to surprise him.

“There’s no point wondering about what ifs. What if you’d all died? What if one or both your parents had survived but not you, ever think about that? How fucking _awful_ they would have felt?”

Din shook his head because he hadn’t, not really. The whole of them dying, yes. But not the other one. And now that he had Hadi in his life he had to agree with Paz that he wouldn’t wish that feeling on anyone. The indescribable pain of losing one’s child. Just as he was trying to come up with something to tell his friend, the toddler in the guest room emitted a plaintive wail. That kid had ridiculously good timing he thought, but it gave him a reason to laugh mirthlessly, and Paz sighed.

“Go get your boy, I’ll find the decorations myself,” the bigger man grumbled.

“Okay,” Din agreed, and slowly made his way down the ladder.

Hadi had apparently been awake for a while, and as usual he disliked finding himself in an unfamiliar place, although he’d napped there a few times in the past. Din hugged him to his chest and did his best to assuage his temper and worried tears.

“I’m sorry little one, I didn’t hear you,” he apologized, and the toddler mumbled nonsense against his shoulder. “Maybe we could go get a snack downstairs?” Din offered, and that seemed to work in his favor – food usually did.

He took his time changing him, letting his wake up properly with Alba clutched to his chest, and Din let his mind wander back to the conversation he’d just had with Paz.

“I love you Hadi,” he told him in a breath, aware that it was probably the first time he said those words to him. But some things had to be spoken out loud.

As they made their way downstairs they heard a dull sound from the attic and a yelled expletive.

“Boom Paz,” concluded Hadi in his small voice.

“Boom Paz,” confirmed Din, glad that he hadn’t repeated the word he’d heard instead.

* * *

There were seven people around Paz’s table on Christmas day, which Din wouldn’t have necessarily called ‘quiet’, as his friend had implied when he invited him. But there was enough food to go around – in great parts thanks to him and what he’d brought and cooked – and Hadi was spoilt silly, so in that respect the day was clearly a success.

“Too bad Kryze couldn’t make it,” he joked at one point when Paz stood up to grab coffee in the kitchen. He punched his shoulder, hard, and Din regretted his words slightly as there would surely be a bruise later.

“You mean Bo-Katan?” whispered Ahsoka.

Din had been lucky enough to be sat next to her, as the two men from Paz’s coaching team at the other end of the table were surely _nice_ , but they were unable to talk about anything _but_ football. Ahsoka had been a welcome addition and the only woman present – she didn’t celebrate Christmas, but she hadn’t said no to a good meal.

“You know her?” asked Din, who really should stop being surprised every time he learned such a thing. Nevarro was a small town, and the fact that Paz and Ahsoka also seemed to be friends was proof of it.

“I know her very well,” she replied. “And Paz invited her? I thought she was with her sister’s family.”

“I was just teasing him,” Din admitted. “I met her recently and the way Paz reacted… But that was stupid teenage behavior, sorry, I didn’t know she was your friend,” he quickly apologized, not wanting to antagonize her as she’d been nothing but kind to him and his son. She’d even gifted the little boy children books in Arabic and he knew how hard they were to find.

The woman stayed silent for a few seconds and he feared he’d really upset her. But a rare impish grin soon graced her features.

“It either ends with one killing or marrying the other, no in between. I’m in,” she declared, looking at him seriously. “I shall help you in your endeavor.”

Din knew better than taking it as a joke, and he shook the hand she was offering him, sealing the deal.

“I take it you’re staying in Nevarro then?” she asked, not realizing how her innocent question troubled him. It would have been so easy to simply tell her the truth. Yes, he did intend to stay. He just hadn’t figured out the details, yet. Or announced it to the people he’d repeatedly told he was leaving. The people he had come to care about very deeply. So he reverted back to his regular excuse, Hadi.

“I’m not sure that’s the best choice for him, though,” he told her, gesturing towards the toddler who was playing not far from them with his newly acquired Duplo blocks.

“What do you mean?” she frowned.

“He still has night terrors,” Din shrugged. “No new episode but it’s likely he might need help at one point, and I don’t want to have to drive him miles and miles for that, it should be something he has easy access to.”

Following what had happened in Sorgan and his less serious though worrying tantrums every once in a while, he’d come clean and told Ahsoka everything – she saw Hadi several times a week at the daycare center, and she deserved to know. She’d been nothing but helpful as always, loaning him books about how to deal with childhood traumas. But Din was not qualified. Reassuring a toddler after a nightmare was one thing. Recognizing the early signs of a deeper, more insidious problem another.

“I might know someone who could help, actually,” she announced, completely unsettling him. “He’s young, but he intends to settle his practice here in Nevarro once he’s done with his degree.”

“Who is he?”

“The son of an old friend,” she replied. “His father was a mentor to me up until…” and her face turned cold and sad in an instant. “Well,” she sighed, quickly recovering. “Let’s just say his son would know how to help a child deal with trauma, even though I’m not convinced Hadi will ever need him.”

Somehow sensing they were discussing him, the little boy toddled towards them and requested to be picked up. Din sat him on his knees so that he could babble to Ahsoka, and he tried not to lament the fact that he was running out of excuses preventing him from staying – he’d just have to find a way to come clean to Paz and Omera. Surely they’d see it as something positive.

Paz’s colleagues and Ahsoka departed soon after, but thankfully the one person he hadn’t been able to speak much to remained behind, somehow sensing he wanted to talk to him.

“Shouldn’t you put him down for his nap?” the old man asked, sitting next to him on the sofa in the living room while Hadi slept on his chest.

“He’s fine where he is,” he replied, not wanting to admit that he simply enjoyed his proximity, his warmth a pleasant distraction. Also, it meant he didn’t have to help Paz cleaning up in the kitchen – that was a bit mean, but as he’d been the one handling most of the cooking that morning, he thought that was fair enough.

“We didn’t have much of a chance to talk,” Kuiil noted, voicing his thoughts.

“I huh, I never really had a chance to thank you either,” Din said, glad that they were alone for this. He’d visited Kuiil a couple of times since his return, but it had always been with Paz, and most of their conversations had been about the Mandalorians and reminiscing the past.

“Whatever for, son?” and Din’s breath stuttered. Twenty years ago the man had already seemed old. Nowadays, he looked ancient, but still moved around with relative ease. Paz had told him the school had a hard time making him accept he should retire as athletic trainer. The epithet he’d just used had simply hit a little too close for comfort, as he’d come to look at the man as one of the reasons that had made him want to become a doctor. And when that didn’t work out because his parents died and he no longer had the necessary funds, an army medic.

“A lot of people tried to help after the accident,” he started, finding the courage to say the words he’d wanted to say for years thanks to Hadi’s presence. “Bringing me food, offering to stay with them so that I wouldn’t be alone… But you’re the only one who actually showed up. No one offered to help with the brutal stuff like the morgue and the funeral home but you did.”

“Someone needed to be there for that,” Kuiil replied simply, his kind blue eyes the same as they’d ever looked despite the wrinkles that had appeared around them.

“Thank you,” Din said, pouring all his heart into those two words. “I don’t know how I’d have done it all without you.”

“You’d have managed,” the old man told him, looking certain. “You were a much stronger kid than you gave yourself credit for.”

“What did I miss?” Paz interrupted before he had time to formulate an answer to tell his old AT he was wrong – he hadn’t been a strong kid, he’d left.

“Huh, not much,” Din lied, looking at the football game rerun they were pretending to watch on TV.

“I was just telling your friend what a great quarterback he’d been,” answered Kuiil without missing a beat.

“He was,” Paz agreed easily, and Din couldn’t help but smile. The only occasion you would find the man complimenting him would be regarding their football days in high school – but he’d take it. “You were a very smart player, coach Fett should have realized it sooner instead of sidelining you as wide receiver.”

“I wasn’t sidelined, it was a good position for me,” argued Din.

“Only because he thought the only thing you could do was run fast and catch a few balls,” Paz grumbled. “That was bad coaching on his side and we could have made the playoffs sooner.”

Din stayed silent because he already knew how Paz felt about their old coach and didn’t want to add fuel to the fire.

“You were one of the most stubborn kid I ever knew,” Kuiil added. “Refusing to admit when you were injured.”

“And let’s be honest, you got hurt a lot,” Paz guffawed, and Din rolled his eyes while he and Kuiil continued to reminisce. Hadi emitted a soft sound in his sleep and he stroked his back slowly. He remembered how long it had taken his mother to accept he was in the football team and come see him play. Looking at the tiny toddler sleeping on his chest, he finally understood why – no way was he going to let his own son take part in such a violent game.

* * *

Din went back home the following day after having accepted Paz’s offer to spend the night in the guest room. He wasn’t sure who out of the two of them wanted to avoid solitude at this particular time of year, but it was probably him. He didn’t think he’d ever spent it alone thanks to the army, as he’d always offered to cover whoever wanted permission to be with their families. Needless to say, he was grateful to Paz, although he now wished they’d had the opportunity to talk more. It had been a difficult conversation to start to be sure, but now that it was out there, he felt he needed to make amends. And explain to his friend what had made him decide to leave Nevarro back then. Especially now that he had decided to stay.

But that was another thing they hadn’t talked about, avoiding the subject with practiced ease. Which meant he hadn’t been able to ask his opinion regarding where he stood with Omera. Or at least, where he _hoped_ he stood with her.

And now it was late afternoon on the 26th and he couldn’t escape his thoughts any longer. There was nothing to keep him busy. Hadi was playing with his new toys in the ridiculous outfit Paz had gotten him with Pit napping nearby and he felt lonely for the first time in weeks. It would probably be several days until Omera and Winta came back: she hadn’t known when she left Nevarro whether she was staying with family until New Year’s but Sorgan would remain closed until January 2nd. He’d only met the mother and daughter duo a couple of months back but during that time, he’d practically seen them every day. And in the two weeks preceding Christmas, practically _lived_ with them.

School and daycare had been out but he’d been happy to spend his days with the two kids, enjoying outdoor activities when possible, some soccer practice in the empty gymnasium thanks to Paz’s help, or lazy afternoons at Sorgan reading and drinking too much coffee while Hadi and Winta drew or played nearby. The evenings were for the four of them and the nights, well... He’d definitely gotten better at the not falling asleep too early thing. And when he eventually fall asleep it was to find Omera next to him in the morning. Out of all those moments they spent together, it was probably his favorite. The certainty she’d be there.

And just as he was starting to feel a bit too sorry for himself there was a knock on the door. Peli wouldn’t be back until the 30th and Paz would usually call before he dropped by. He stood up from the sofa and hoped he wouldn’t have to stay outside for long as the small house cooled down quickly. But when he saw who it was he couldn’t care less about the cold.

“Merry Christmas! We brought food! And gifts!” intoned Winta with a wide smile, arms laden with said offerings, which Din automatically grabbed and set on the kitchen counter while she made her way to Hadi who’d immediately discarded his toys at the sound of her voice and greeted her with a pleased exclamation.

“Wh – ” he started saying as Omera came in, her smile just as wide and her arms just as full.

“We both decided we wanted to be here,” she explained as she kicked the door close, setting her bags next to Winta’s.

“Is that okay?” she asked, suddenly unsure.

“Are you kidding? Of course it’s okay,” he replied, accepting her hug and her kiss and losing himself once more in the smell of her hair. He’d _missed_ this.

“I want to enjoy this while I still can,” she whispered against his neck, and he tried to convince himself that he knew what he was doing and that all would be fine.


	13. How to find something better than coffee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in updating! Real life got in the way, but as an apology, here's an extra long chapter with an extra serving of fluff. :)

Winta wondered when would be a good time to ask her mom if they _really_ had to stay until New Year’s. But there was always someone talking to her and monopolizing her attention in the big, crowded house. She didn’t think she was imagining things when she caught her rolling her eyes discreetly or forcing a smile, though. She knew her mom. And she knew she wanted to be someplace else, too.

She wasn’t sure if it was because she was older and starting to understand what grown-ups were _actually_ saying more often, but Winta thought some of the remarks her aunts, uncles and grandparents made were a bit mean.

They weren’t _mean_ mean like some kids at school, no. They were the sneaky kind of mean. Like Mrs. Cregg in algebra when she asked her why she was only starting to have As now, if she was so smart. She wasn’t exactly _accusing_ her of cheating. And she always said it with a smile, to make it sound like a compliment. But Winta wasn’t fooled. Sometimes people were just mean on the inside, and good at pretending on the outside. There was no point trying to tell her that her grades had gotten better because someone – Din – had done a better job than her at explaining things in a way she understood.

So when aunt Lana or uncle Doug asked her mom about the coffee shop and congratulated her when she told them it was doing very well, Winta knew they were faking it. They didn’t believe her. And when her grandad asked questions about Albuquerque and if she still had contacts with people at her old firm, she knew it was his way of suggesting maybe that life had been better for her.

Christmas itself had been _nice_ , she thought. They called it Christmas because it was easier, but she knew they weren’t celebrating like other families. But that was okay. Some people went completely overboard with decorations and traditions in her opinion, and she liked the fact it was simply a day for good food and exchanging gifts in her family. She just wondered why someone – her gran, she suspected – was still trying to give her dolls as a present. She was eleven. And she didn’t care much for dolls, never had. Just as she didn’t care much for dresses. Her mom had made her wear one for lunch, but she’d been allowed to change right after to go play in the yard – her cousin Michael had gotten a new baseball bat and mitt and she was dying to try them.

“Why didn’t your mom remarry?”

Thelma was the oldest cousin, and a bit of a bully at times. Winta wondered why she would still hang around with the younger kids. At 16, she surely had better things to do than bother them. But she liked feeling superior, she guessed.

“I don’t know,” Winta shrugged, throwing the ball to Mickey since it was his turn using the mitt – the parents had said they should try the bat some other time, and not in the yard.

“My mom remarried after three years,” she continued and Winta said nothing, even though she was very tempted to point out that her situation was completely different, as she still got to see her father every other weekend – hers was dead.

“It’s not all bad, having another dad,” Thelma persisted, unable to figure out on her own that Winta’s silence meant she wasn’t interested in that conversation. “But I guess your mom doesn’t have a lot of opportunities to meet people at her coffee shop – ”

“She has a boyfriend”, Winta interrupted her, loudly. She hadn’t meant to just blurt it out, but Thelma was pushing all her buttons and she wanted to shut her up.

“Really?” her cousin replied, clearly not believing her. Mickey grumbled when she missed her mark again and she felt mad at herself for letting Thelma distract her. Baseball was more important than whatever it was the older girl wanted to prove.

“Yes, really,” she said simply, focusing and throwing the ball straight into Mickey’s glove this time.

“Then why didn’t he come here with you for the holidays?”

“He couldn’t come,” Winta lied easily. “He has a two-year old son and he doesn’t like to travel by car too much.” And this part was true enough.

“What does he do?” the girl inquired, humoring her, and Winta wished her other cousins standing around would try to interrupt, but they were riveted as usual, Thelma’s seniority over them forestalling any interference.

Keiko had said she wanted to play too earlier, and she handed her the ball, hoping the distraction would allow her to go back inside. And prevent her from saying anything she would later regret, such as a lie so big she couldn’t take it back. But the younger girl shook her head and Mickey complained again that she was taking too long, so she resolved to keep her cool.

“He’s retired from the army,” Winta said, intent to remain truthful.

“Retired?” Thelma huffed. “How old is he? Does your mom have a thing for older dudes?”

“They’re the same age!” At least, she thought they were.

“So what, he’s an invalid or something? He was wounded?”

“He was in the army for twenty years, that’s a lot. And he was a Major, it’s like pretty high up,” Winta stated – this she had managed to check online herself. “They still give you money after you serve for so long. And he retired to take care of his baby.”

Hopefully that would be enough for Thelma to believe her, but it seemed she still wanted to know more.

“How did they meet?”

“He came to Sorgan, mom’s coffee shop. Him and his son. They’re regulars. And he grew up in Nevarro.”

“Are you sure they’re really boyfriend and girlfriend and not just like…”

“I saw them kiss,” she countered.

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

“They sleep in the same bed and I’m not an idiot.”

“Eeww, I don’t want to hear about that!” Mickey said, as he had come closer to hear what they were talking about. Winta wanted to throw the ball as hard as she could, but now that he’d gotten nearer, it was impossible.

“They’re not doing anything _gross_ when I’m around, don’t be a baby, Michael,” she rolled her eyes.

“If they’re so close, then why isn’t he here?” piped Keiko.

“I told you…”

“Why isn’t your mom talking about him?” added Lee, who’d also remained quiet until now.

Winta shrugged, because that wasn’t anybody’s business, and certainly not Thelma’s or her other cousins’. She wasn’t about to tell them that Din and Hadi were supposed to leave Nevarro soon.

“What’s he like with you?” Thelma asked, trying a different angle.

And there Winta almost faltered again, because she really wanted to tell them how great they both were. How Hadi learned new things every day and wasn’t whiny like Michael’s little sister. How Din had been teaching her soccer since the start of the holidays while her mother worked and how much her heart soared when he gave her a compliment. How they’d watch films just the three of them once Hadi was asleep some evenings. How special she felt when Din and Paz let her stay at the table in Sorgan when they discussed football strategy. And then the more subtle things she couldn’t really put into words. The delighted squeal the little boy made when you tickled his sides. The barely there kiss Din would press to her forehead when he thought she was asleep and he came in to check up on Hadi.

But, above all, how much her mother smiled.

All this, she decided to keep to herself. They didn’t deserve to know that. Those memories were hers and hers alone.

“You can see him for yourself when they come with us next year,” Winta said instead. And it wasn’t a lie. It was just her giving voice to her wish. Even if she knew it probably wouldn’t happen.

Winta had to wait until just before dinner to see her mom on her own. She was in her room, apparently deciding what to wear and laying down a few tops on her bed. Winta plopped down on the mattress with an exaggerated sigh and hoped that would get her attention.

“Mommy?” she asked as she felt studiously ignored. “Are you having a nice time here?”

That question seemed to startle her mom, as she stopped examining a grey sweater, and sat on the bed close to where her head was resting.

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that?” she wondered with a small smile, her hand starting to run through her messy hair.

“There’s just _so_ many people…”

“I know, I’d forgotten how noisy we could all get. I kind of miss the quiet, too,” her mom agreed.

“Do we have to stay until the 31st?” Winta tried, and she heard an answering sigh.

“It’s the only time of year we’re all together,” she countered. They visited her grandparents on other occasions, but it was usually just the four of them, then.

“I miss Hadi,” Winta told her, sitting up slowly.

“I know.”

“And Din,” she added, because it was true.

“Yeah,” her mother replied simply, face inscrutable.

“What do you think they’re doing right now?”

And it took her mom a few seconds to reply, as if her answer required much deliberation.

“Paz sent me some pictures earlier actually,” she finally told her in a breath. “They’ve been celebrating at his place, wanna see them?”

“Of course!” Winta replied excitedly – why had she been so hesitant to tell her about that? Her mother picked up her phone from the nightstand, and Winta swung her legs across the mattress to sit next to her and see the screen.

“What is Hadi wearing?” she exclaimed, laughing.

“It looks like some kind of dragon costume?” her mom replied in a similar tone. “I bet that was Paz’s gift.”

“He looks so cute!” Winta chimed in, wishing she could zoom in even more and see the outfit better. It was green, with a hood and red horns and yellow wings on his back. Maybe a tail as well? She was dying to see it for real when they came back.

“Din looks super grumpy though,” she chortled, as the man wore similar expressions on all the pictures Paz had sent. She thought it was weird because he was rarely grumpy for real. Maybe in the morning for a bit. And when Paz was annoying or made silly jokes she never really quite understood. So she guessed Paz was responsible there again. Because Hadi was smiling wide and clearly having a grand time in his new dragon costume. Winta resolved to take some pictures of her own when they returned. Some where Din was smiling, too. It would be nice to have them.

“Oh, and Ahsoka was there, that’s nice,” she noted, seeing some other people she didn’t recognize.

“Yeah, that’s nice,” her mom replied, nonplussed, putting her phone away once they were done looking at the pictures.

“Are they staying at Paz’s place for the rest of the week?” Winta asked.

“I don’t know, he didn’t say.”

“And…Peli said Din and Hadi could stay until the new people renting her place would arrive, right? Mid-January?” she tentatively added, knowing her mom didn’t like talking about this particular subject any more that her.

“That’s what she said. You know they could still leave before that, right?”

“I know,” she assured her. “But surely that means we should spend more time with them.”

“Is that really what you want?” her mother asked her, voice suddenly very serious. And Winta realized she was asking for her opinion, letting her choose.

“I miss them,” she repeated, and she knew that wasn’t really an answer, but it was what she felt. The one emotion taking precedence over all the others. She wanted more time with them. The quiet mornings on the couch watching cartoons when Hadi would try to steal her frosted flakes. The afternoons spent playing outside or at the school’s gym or downstairs in the coffee shop. Dinner when it was the four of them around a table and she would try very hard not to feel jealous of all her friends who got to experience that every day.

“You need to be quite sure, Winta,” her mother reminded her, and she didn’t have to stress that this would only be for a little while. Even if part of her was still hoping they would stay in Nevarro for good. Winta knew her mom didn’t believe that, but hoping for something wasn’t hurting anybody.

“We could really go?” she pressed. “Leave right now?”

A smile. A real one.

“Maybe not _right now_. But we could leave tomorrow after lunch, it’s only a two and a half hour drive.”

“I really want to, mom,” Winta voiced, sure of herself. “Don’t you wanna see them too?”

“I do,” she confirmed, the relief on her face unmissable.

“And Thelma is behaving like a butt.”

And this time she really laughed.

* * *

The look on Din’s face when he opened the door was worth all the doubts that had been running through her mind for the last few hours on the road. They’d only made one short stop at home, to pick up the gifts they had bought for them before driving to Gallup.

She’d known that Winta had gotten especially close to Hadi and Din before they left, but she hadn’t realized just how much, and now felt a little guilty. But it had been so nice to have someone be there for Winta at the start of the holidays when she still had to work. And Din had been that person and more – he seemed to genuinely enjoy spending time with her daughter and wasn’t doing it just to please her or expected anything in return.

Omera had hesitated showing her the pictures she had received from Paz for the same reason: she’d hoped Christmas with her numerous cousins would soften the blow caused by the duo’s upcoming departure, and keep her busy and focused on other people, including children the same age as Hadi. And she had tried, she’d witnessed as much. Winta had always been good with kids much younger than herself. But with the reigning excitement in the big house, it was no wonder she’d felt overwhelmed and missed the quieter times when it had been just her and Hadi and Din.

And yes, she _had_ felt a pang of jealousy at seeing Ms. Tano, but not because she felt insecure or threatened by the other woman, who was always pleasant when she stopped at Sorgan (double shot cappuccino, darkest roast available). No, she simply wished she’d been there and had shared that moment with all of them.

But it was all in the past now, as Din stood in front of them with his disheveled hair and dazed expression, Winta pushing her way in, her arms laden with the gifts they had picked up at home while she carried the food her mother had forced them to take, a knowing look in her eyes.

He nervously pulled at the collar of his hoodie and looked at his socked feet, and Omera wondered if he simply hadn’t expected their arrival and felt self-conscious about his loungewear or if there was more to it.

“Is this okay?” she asked, suddenly unsure.

But his expression quickly morphed into mirth when he heard the doubt in her voice and she fell in his waiting arms for a lingering hug and kiss.

Cheek pressed against soft cotton that smelled like home, she finally managed to voice her motive out loud, although it was only said in a whisper.

“I want to enjoy this while I still can,” and she didn’t miss the way his arms tightened around her before slowly releasing her to turn towards the children.

“Din, that costume is _amazing_!” intoned Winta, sitting on the floor next to a very green Hadi, who was still in the outfit they had seen pictures of yesterday. Given Din’s audible sigh, she’d been right to assume it had been a gift from Paz.

“He doesn’t want to take it off?” she surmised, hiding a smirk.

“It’s a bit of a struggle, yeah,” Din confirmed. “Can’t wait until he insists he needs to wear it outside, too.”

“There’s even a tail!” Winta chuckled, as the little boy stood up to walk towards her, letting her admire the dragon costume in all its glory.

“That tail is going to be a hazard in supermarket aisles,” Omera noted as Din was grumbling in the background, picking the toddler up before he’d even raised his arms.

“Hello darling,” she murmured, and Hadi cooed at the sound of her voice. Omera had definitely missed that too. His bright eyes and soft cheeks and dark curls, peeking underneath the green hood. “At least with that outfit you won’t get cold,” she added, feeling the soft fleece under her hand as she stroked his back. Despite how small the place was, it was difficult to keep the garage warm, and she’d gotten used to the milder temperatures of New Mexico for the past few days.

“Are you cold?” Din asked, and she shook her head.

“I’ll just keep Hadi with me, he’s like a little furnace. That dragon costume is spot on.”

“Bwah!” confirmed the boy as she sat on the couch with him. He was playing with her hair, fascinated by their length, and she remembered they had brought actual gifts for the two of them.

“We have plenty of food and also presents, should we do that now since it’s almost time for him to go to bed?”

“No,” declared Hadi, who’d understood that last part loud and clear. Omera smiled at his furrowed brow and found Din staring at her in wonder. What had she said to cause such a reaction? With a shake of his shoulder, he found his composure again, and she was none the wiser.

“I need to wrap your gifts, you caught me off guard,” he declared. “And I should at least wash Hadi and put him in his pajamas before we eat.”

“No!” repeated the toddler, who’d gotten a lot better with that word, as expected.

“You don’t want a bath?” queried Omera, as it was usually a treasured moment she loved to share with him. The boy grumbled in reply and gestured that he wanted to be put down in order to join Winta who was petting a sleepy Pit.

“There’s only a shower here, he doesn’t particularly enjoy it,” explained Din.

“Peli doesn’t let you use the bathtub in her house?” she frowned, as it didn’t sound like her. Especially since she knew she had two bathrooms.

Din shrugged and she could tell he wouldn’t admit it. Omera suppressed an eye roll and decided to ask the woman herself as he was being ridiculous.

“Let’s call her, I’ve been meaning to do it anyway,” she declared, taking her phone from her bag and dialing her number before Din could object.

“Hi Peli, we’re back in Nevarro with Din and Hadi and we wanted to wish you a merry Christmas, you’re on speaker!” she said quickly after her friend picked up, placing the phone on the coffee table.

“I knew you wouldn’t be able to stay away from your scruffy man for long,” the woman cackled, and Omera wondered why she had bothered warning her everyone could hear her.

“We wanted to ask you if we could use your guest bathroom for Hadi,” she asked, ignoring the remark.

“Of course you can! As I’ve told that stubborn dimwit more than once already!”

Omera looked at Din sideways and he had the decency to look a little guilty.

“How’s your sister?” Omera said, changing the subject.

“Fine.”

“And Boulder?”

“Cold.”

“Merry Christmas Peli,” Din remembered to tell her after they had remained silent for too long – but this was Peli for you, she wasn’t one to make small talk.

“Have you given her that present yet?” she asked, and Omera frowned when Din sputtered a rushed “No, not yet”.

“Stop fretting, she’s gonna like it,” Peli replied, forgetting again she was on speaker – or more likely not caring. “How’s Pit doing?” she wondered next, and said dog seemed to recognize her voice and that they were talking about him as he emitted a little yap next to the kids.

“That was him right there, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah…” admitted Din.

“Good thing I told you he should stay in my kitchen when he wasn’t outside with you,” Peli quipped. “He’d better still love me when I come back in a few days.”

“Have fun with your family! Is – ”

But Omera didn’t have time to ask Peli if she was spending the holidays with the sheriff, as she hung up the phone, somehow figuring out what she was going to say.

“Guess I can give Hadi a bath then, stubborn dimwit,” she told Din with a smirk as she put her phone back in her bag.

“Your scruffy man?” he countered with a similar tone and she stayed silent, as this exchange had definitely been a draw.

“I’ll just have to figure out how to convince him to remove that costume,” she realized, standing up from the couch.

“I know _exactly_ what Paz is doing,” Din lamented, shaking his head as he observed the little boy trying to offer Pit some Duplo blocks. The dog would thankfully lick them instead of eating them.

“What?” Omera asked.

“He keeps giving him stuff in green. First the hat, now the dragon outfit…”

“And?”

“And I’m sure Hadi will be singing ‘Go! You Packers, go!’ before he can count to five, you’ll see.”

Omera was only able to focus on the last part of his sentence at first. It was said in jest, but it still hurt, as there was a good chance she wouldn’t be able to _see_ anything, as they’ll be gone. Yes, they might visit every once in a while, but it wouldn’t be the same.

“Go, you Packers, go?” she managed to utter.

“The Green Bay Packers song, Paz’s favorite football team.”

“And let me guess, they wear a green uniform?”

“You got it,” he confirmed.

“How original.”

“I can give Hadi his bath if you want?” Din offered after they had spent a few seconds observing the two children interact.

“No, I want to,” she said resolutely. “You wrap the gifts that you need to wrap while I do that, then we can eat.”

“Okay,” he agreed easily, and rested his hand against her lower back as he walked past her. The touch brief but full of fondness. She liked how well they worked as a team too.

Hadi had complained at first but quickly perked up when he realized she wasn’t taking him away from his toys for a shower but for a bath. Winta joined her after she set the table for dinner at her request, and they let him play in the water for a while. There were no actual toys like at her place, but he’d made do with an empty shampoo bottle and a plastic soap dish.

“He should be able to play with what we’ve gotten him, too,” whispered Winta, not wanting to spoil the surprise, even if Hadi was currently too busy to hear her, let alone understand what she meant.

“You’re right,” she noted, and wondered what else the toddler had received for Christmas. She hoped he’d been spoilt silly, he deserved it.

Soothed by the warm water and starting to tire, he then let himself be washed – hair included, a miracle – and didn’t complain when she put him in his footed pajamas – blue this time, not green – instead of his dragon costume.

They had leftovers – mashed potatoes and roast beef – but she could tell Winta was excited about the gifts and ate quickly. Din was nervous when he handed her a square, large box with something rattling inside after they’d relocated to the couch afterwards, but they all decided Hadi should be the one opening his gift first, with Winta’s help.

“Look, it’s an actual garage! With three floors and a ramp and an elevator and a bell ring and everything!” she explained as they opened the box. “It’s got a couple of cars already but you can add the ones you already have!”

Clearly, it was going to keep them occupied for a while, as Hadi immediately figured out how to launch a car at the top of the ramp and giggled excitedly when it reached the bottom, sliding towards Pit.

“It’s not the most compact gift, sorry,” she realized, thinking of what he would need to pack up soon.

“It’s great, he loves it already, thank you,” Din replied, shaking his head at her apology. “Open your gift?”

“Open yours,” she insisted, handing him a smaller gift wrapped in silver paper.

He sighed, which made her wonder why he was so nervous about what he had gotten her, but did as she suggested and opened his present.

At his puzzled expression when faced with the colorful package, she realized she had to give him some kind of an explanation.

“I promise they’re in an adult size and should fit you,” she told him, just managing to prevent a laugh from escaping her.

“Superhero boxers?” he guessed right.

“There’s one for each day of the week,” she supplied. “No need to relegate Batman just for sleep, now.”

Din turned towards her and there was a small, pleased smile playing on his lips, so maybe despite the joke aspect of the gift, he liked it nonetheless. He leaned down to press a kiss against her cheek in thanks.

“You can model them for me later,” she whispered in his ear, pressing her own kiss there, and he chuckled before she started focusing on her present.

She’d guessed right at it being a box, and she realized she should have expected what was inside. Thinking her silence meant she also required an explanation, he rushed through his words.

“I called Fennec and she managed to get the recipe from someone at that court house café in Albuquerque you used to go to, and then I convinced Peli to try it and she agreed to make them for Sorgan now – ”

“Wait,” she stopped him. “You mean those stroopwafels are not from Albuquerque?”

“No, Peli made them.”

“And she _agreed_ to make more? That we can sell at Sorgan?”

“Yeah,” Din replied simply.

“But… Din they look identical! It’s amazing! She never wanted to try them until now. How did you manage that?” she marveled.

“Maybe try one before you commit to anything?” he suggested with a grin and she followed his advice, biting into a piece of caramel goodness.

“Oh, they taste wonderful, they’re going to be a hit! Do you want one?” she offered, as the box was full.

“Thanks, Peli made me try about a hundred already when she was trying the recipe to make sure she got it right.”

“I still can’t believe you managed to convince her, I have to call her back. And Fennec! She was in on it and didn’t say anything.”

“So it’s a good surprise?”

“I love it, thank you,” she professed. Before she had time to steal another kiss, Winta approached them to admire their gifts and request a cookie. Din handed her her present, and there again it was a success.

“I asked Paz where he got Hadi’s hat and thankfully they had models for older kids,” he explained as her daughter tried on her beanie. Light blue, with three interchangeable pompons. She was quick to choose yellow to mirror Hadi’s, and the little boy toddled towards the coat rack. Din understood what he wanted and got his own green hat from the pocket of his jacket and placed it on his head. The boy cooed in pleasure, thrilled that both Winta and him were wearing similar hats.

“Thank you Din, it's perfect!” she giggled, moving her head from side to side to make Hadi laugh harder.

“Maybe that’ll give me a break from the dragon costume,” Din sighed as they observed the children eating cookies and playing with the garage. Omera thought he was going to regret all that sugar intake when it would be time to put the toddler to bed.

Din stood up again a few minutes later and came back with a zip-up hoodie he placed across her shoulders.

“You keep shivering,” he explained.

“Thanks,” she replied, appreciating the soft fleece. “A Mandalorian hoodie,” she noted, putting it on properly and seeing the logo on the front.

“It was too small for Paz so he gave it to me,” he explained.

“No kidding,” Omera replied, as she expected Paz to require about twice whatever size this was. “I feel like the quarterback of the football team just gave me his letter jacket, I’m honored,” she deadpanned.

“Sorry,” he replied, thinking it was a reproach.

“Don’t be, I’m finally fulfilling a ridiculous high school fantasy at 35.”

“Well, I _was_ the team’s quarterback,” Din stated, and there was a bit of pride in his reply, which she couldn’t begrudge him as he was the least pretentious person she knew – he was allowed that.

They eventually managed to convince Hadi he needed to go to bed, but he refused to be put in his crib and it took Din a while to figure out he wanted to sleep in the lower bunk since Winta was here and he was used to that set-up at her place. Given the excitement of the day her daughter didn’t linger for long downstairs either once Din was done reading the required stories to his son, but Omera didn’t force her to leave them just yet, understanding she needed that extra time with him too.

“Are we staying here tomorrow?” Winta whispered from the top bunk as she was placing an extra blanket at the bottom of her bed in case she got cold during the night.

“I think so, is that okay?” Omera asked, and her daughter nodded, happy at this prospect.

She kissed her goodnight, checked that Hadi’s nightlights were still on, and pulled in the door as she exited the room, leaving it slightly ajar.

“I need to let Pit run around for a bit in the garden,” Din explained as she came down. “It’s too cold for him to sleep outside at the moment, but he always stays downstairs, don’t worry.”

“You’re not letting him sleep in Peli’s big empty house on his own?”

“No, he’d get lonely,” Din replied very seriously, scratching Pit’s head.

“Of course he would,” Omera agreed. “I’m going to call Fennec while you do that, I want to thank her for the stroopwafels recipe, too.”

“She was great,” Din agreed as he was opening the door, “say hi to her for me.”

“Din says hi,” she immediately started with when Fennec picked up. Her way of letting her know she had changed her mind since the last time they’d talked, and decided against staying in Gallup until New Year’s.

“How have the cookies turned up?”

“Very good actually.”

“What did _you_ get him for Christmas?” Fennec asked next.

“I’m not telling you that.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Are you taking any more time off? You should come to Nevarro since Winta and I are here and I’m not working,” Omera said to change the subject.

“I actually might take you up on that offer.”

“Really?” marveled Omera, as she had been sure her friend would find another excuse.

“Believe it or not, I’m currently defending a client who’s from your neck of the wood.”

“From Nevarro?”

“Yes, his name is Boba Fett, ring any bell?” asked Fennec, who didn’t need to remind her she was sharing privileged information.

“No,” she frowned, wondering how she could broach the subject with Din without violating Fennec’s client confidence. But the fact that the other woman was mentioning him on the phone was telling – she knew Fennec, had known her for _years_.

“He’s not gonna be your client for long, is he?”

“What makes you say that?” her friend replied, caught and not minding one bit.

“Well, for one I know you wouldn’t casually mention the name of one of your clients on a call.”

“True.”

“Are you making him accept some kind of deal?” Omera guessed.

“That’s the plan.”

“What does it have to do with you coming to Nevarro, though?”

“He won’t be allowed to leave the country for a while and he’s mentioned wanting to visit the town of his youth for old time’s sake while he’s stuck here.”

“Stuck here?”

“I can’t tell you more than that.”

“Fair enough, so you’re both coming here then? When?” Omera pressed, wondering what Fennec’s relationship to this Boba Fett was exactly. Her friend rarely made smart decisions when it came to whoever she was dating, but she didn’t think she would sleep with a client either.

“I’ll let you know,” she replied cryptically.

“Can’t wait to meet him.”

“Well, he’s definitely not as _nice_ as your Din,” Fennec remarked.

“Perfect for you then, you don’t like them nice,” Omera deadpanned, and her friend laughed.

They hung up soon after that and Omera remained pensive as Din came back inside, Pit immediately settling in his designated spot under the coffee table, somehow rightly sensing he wouldn’t be forced to move back next door if he stayed quiet.

Despite the borrowed hoodie, Omera still craved some more warmth as she settled against Din on the couch, his arms automatically embracing her. Since he’d just been outside, she was the one providing heat at first, but soon he proved just as efficient as Hadi, and she sighed in contentment.

“Does the name Boba Fett ring any bell to you?” she asked, choosing a direct approach.

“Boba Fett?” he marveled, and she didn’t have to raise her head from his shoulder to figure out he knew exactly who she was talking about.

“Mmh,” she confirmed, her hand drawing small circles over his chest.

“Haven’t heard that name in a long time.”

“Who is he?”

“He was the starting quarterback when I joined the Mandalorians.”

“What happened? Did you just replace him?”

“It was a bit more complicated than that,” he sighed.

“How so?” she asked, curious.

“His father, Jango, was coaching the team. I was only a kid then but looking back, I realize that must have been a tough situation for him. All that extra pressure and resentment from the rest of the players.”

“Was he any good at football?”

“Yeah, but I’m not sure he really _liked_ football. He did everything in his power to get kicked out of the team.”

“Like what?”

“Failing or skipping classes, getting into fights with other players… Even trouble with the police according to Paz, but I don’t know if that was ever proven.”

“Was he just acting up because of his dad, you think?” Omera wondered, trying to picture how that kid would turn up twenty years later.

“I guess we’ll never know,” he shrugged. “The coach had no choice but to kick him out of the team and I replaced him. Last I heard, Boba left town before he graduated.”

And now maybe they _would_ know, she thought. If he and Fennec indeed came to Nevarro.

“Must have been difficult for you, stepping up in his place at a moment’s notice. Do you think the coach resented you?”

“I think he was okay with me actually, given the circumstances. But don’t ask Paz about that time, he _hated_ coach Fett. And hated his kid for basically abandoning the team.”

Note to self, keep Fett and Paz away from each other. With her luck, it would spectacularly blow up in her face, though.

“Why are you asking me about Boba Fett?” Din wondered, finally catching up, but thankfully Omera knew how to distract him.

“I heard his name being mentioned at Sorgan once, that’s all,” she uttered, then started kissing his neck. She knew just the right spots to attack to work him up. And Din either lost track of his question, or decided he didn’t care, as he unceremoniously pulled her into his lap, lips finding hers for a heated kiss. They’d both been very patient after all.

Omera cradled his face in her palms and wriggled closer, the hitch in his breath delicious. She hummed into his mouth when he kissed her again and soon she was the one forgetting all about Fennec and Fett or leaving Gallup or the inevitability of Din and Hadi’s departure. The only thing that mattered was right here, right now, and the man underneath her.

“That’s cheating,” he yelped, looking only mildly inconvenienced that one of her hands had slipped under his waistband.

“You should wear sweatpants more often,” she countered, and they both agreed to relocate upstairs.

* * *

A strange sound woke her up. And it took her a while to situate herself, as it was the first night she spent here. Omera rolled over and stretched out her arm but Din wasn’t lying next to her. When her eyes finally started to get used to the darkness, she saw his shape sitting at the end of the bed. He was breathing hard. And sounded in pain. Before she had time to ask him what was wrong he was up, and exited the bedroom. She frowned, wondering if she should follow him or if he wanted to be alone.

When he hadn’t returned after five minutes, she grew worried, and decided to leave the bed to go investigate. Wearing only thin layers, she was assailed by the cold and took a few precious seconds to put on more clothes – who knew where he’d gone? Maybe he had even ventured outside.

But he hadn’t gone very far, as it turned out. She found him just a few steps away, in the children’s room, sitting on the floor by the bunk bed, his face half hidden in shadows.

“Din?” she asked, touching his bare shoulder – he was ice cold already. One of his hands rested close to Hadi’s small shape on the mattress, his nightlights illuminating the scene in warm colors at regular intervals.

“Are you okay?” she whispered, as her hand moved to his hair in the hope it would trigger a reaction. But Din remained still and inscrutable.

“Did you have a nightmare?” Omera wondered, sparing a look at her daughter, who was sleeping soundly with her limbs extended every which way. She didn’t think she’d ever heard him have a nightmare before, but she could remember a time when Winta was younger than Hadi and she’d spend countless hours next to her crib as she slept, just to make sure she was still breathing. She spied the extra blanket she had placed at the end of her bed earlier, and draped it across Din’s immobile shape instead.

“Superhero or not, Batman can’t keep you warm,” she commented, referring to his usual sleep attire, and rubbed his shoulder again. There was no point pushing him, she could only make sure he was as comfortable as possible until he felt ready to reach out to her if he wanted to.

“I’m going back to bed,” she whispered, pressing a kiss against his hair before leaving the room.

It took him a while to return, but she hadn’t been able to find sleep again. Each minute of his absence raising more doubts in her head. Should she have tried to talk to him more? Insisted he shouldn’t stay there all alone? But it seemed he’d gotten there on his own in the end. He lay down with his back facing her and kept to his side of the bed, undoubtedly thinking she was sleeping.

Slowly, Omera moved closer to him on the mattress. Despite her care, he still startled when she embraced him, her left arm encircling his chest while her right hand run through his hair soothingly. He didn’t pull away, but he remained completely still, shoulders tensed. She didn’t let herself be deterred and kept her movements rhythmic and slow. It might not get him back to sleep, but she hoped it still helped. Gradually, inch by inch, his body started to relax. But she still didn’t say anything and focused on his slowing heartbeat against her palm instead. She gave him more time, carding her fingers through his soft curls. And more time still when one of his hands clasped her own in a tight grip over his chest.

“I was reminiscing with Paz the other day,” he mumbled, voice heavy and hoarse in the silence. “Telling him stuff…that I hadn’t really thought about for a while and it’s just – ”

He exhaled deeply and Omera stayed silent, letting him find the words – if he wanted to. His hold loosened around her hand, but he didn’t let go, and she started drawing slow circles against his chest again.

“It’s all coming back, that time period. And the dreams. But now instead of my parents I see Hadi,” he admitted, and Omera had surmised as much from his behavior earlier.

“It’s good that you’ve been able to talk about it with Paz,” she noted, focusing on the positive.

“Yeah,” he admitted.

“I’m sure the nightmares will fade again in time.”

“I hope so.”

“Mmh,” she whispered, and he turned towards her on the bed, his head coming to rest under her own, and she enfolded him in her arms. Cradled him against her chest. As close and as tight as she could. Omera didn’t say anything about the tears she felt against her neck and soon they’d both fallen back to sleep.

There was something different about him the next morning, but Omera couldn’t quite put her finger on it. It was in the way he kissed her and whispered her name. The way he teased her and made her laugh. The way he sighed and moaned and cried out. But most of all, it was in the way he looked at her. As if he was telling her something but not using words. As if he was choosing to show her instead. And she had an idea of what it was he was trying to say. She just hoped it wasn’t too late.


End file.
